Page 43

Chapter 43

Yoshi

T he city of Karu rose from its valley like an ancient guardian.

Stone walls framed its perimeter, weathered but strong, standing as a testament to its long history as a hub of commerce. The streets were alive with motion, filled with the sounds of merchants, carts creaking under the weight of their cargo, and the endless murmur of voices rising and falling in conversation.

The city smelled of everything at once—spiced meats roasting over open flames, freshly milled rice, the salt of preserved fish, and the acrid tang of ink and parchment from the scribes’ district.

I had thought Tooi was a bustling village.

But Karu?

Karu was something else entirely.

We entered through the eastern gate, the guards barely sparing us a glance. They had been expecting us, of course. The crest of the Daimyo ’s family emblazoned on our banners was enough to ensure we passed unchallenged. The fact we escorted the leaders of the city turned a cautious welcome into a warm embrace.

We had traveled for weeks, yet the sight of so many people, the sheer energy of the streets, left me momentarily breathless. Takeo noticed. Of course, he did. Uncle saw everything, the blasted man.

He nudged his horse closer to mine, smirking as he followed my gaze. “Feeling small yet?”

I scoffed, straightening in my saddle. “Not at all.”

His grin widened. “Good. That means you haven’t realized how much you don’t know yet.”

I scowled. He laughed.

It was an ongoing game between us. Takeo had spent nearly every day of this journey reminding me that I knew very little about the world outside Tooi. He wasn’t wrong, and that was infuriating.

At the center of the city stood an expansive home built from rich cedarwood, its curved rooftops etched with gold leaf. The manor was a symbol of the city lord’s status and his wealth. As our horses came to a stop, a group of retainers in fine robes emerged, their eyes sweeping over us with polite curiosity.

Lord Yamana, the man we had escorted for weeks, dismounted first. He was an older man, his face lined with wisdom and the weight of leadership. He had been my father’s greatest supporter since the first day he ascended as Daimyo .

Yamana adjusted the hem of his robe before turning to us with a nod.

“You have my gratitude, Lord Takeo- san , Yoshi- san . Your company has been most instructive and pleasant.”

Takeo waved a hand. “You would have been fine without us, old friend, but I won’t refuse your gratitude if it means free sake next time I visit.”

“Consider it promised.” Yamana chuckled. “Now, this old man would like to see his wife and home. Would you stay the night, dine with us before continuing your journey?”

Takeo bowed again. “It would be our great honor, especially if the sake offer begins with this meal.”

Yamana’s laugh was a deep rumble that spread like ripples in a pond.

“You may drink your fill, but be wary, your road is long, and morning waits for no man—or his hangover.”

Takeo’s grin widened as Yamana turned. I remained silent, watching as the retainers moved forward, leading Yamana inside.

Just like that, one escort mission ended.

Part of me wanted to feel relief, to claim victory. We had traveled for weeks following the pirate raid to deliver a vaunted ally safely home; and yet, though the nightmares ebbed and my heavy heart eased with each passing day, I knew the burdens we bore would linger long after we left the walls of Karu.

Takeo turned to me, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “Well, that is one task done. Another day, another city. What do you think, Yoshi? Karu is not so bad, is it?”

I looked around, taking in the grandeur, the way the people moved with purpose, the way everything seemed to function like a great, living entity. It was impressive, but I knew we wouldn’t be staying.

I shook my head. “It’s interesting, but it’s not home.”

Takeo studied me for a moment before nodding. “No, it is not, but neither is where we are going next.”

He let those words settle before swinging himself off his horse.

That night, I sat by a roaring fire in a hearth made of the finest stone, staring into the crackling flames, my mind a tangle of thoughts. I had always known this journey would take me far from home; but now, as I sat in a city so unlike Tooi, surrounded by strangers, unfamiliar voices, and the hum of a world I had never belonged to, the weight of it settled more heavily onto my shoulders.

I was really leaving—and not just for another city, not just for another stretch of road, but across the sea, to a land I had never set foot on, a land where I would be expected to become something greater than I was now.

A part of me felt eager. Excited, even. Another part of me wondered if I would ever truly belong anywhere again.

The road to the southern tip of the island was much longer than I expected, longer than I dreamed possible. I’d grown up learning the geography of our province. Hells, by the age of five, I could name every town, shrine, temple, and most of the mountains. Still, seeing the land on a map was a far cry from riding across it on horseback.

For one thing, maps never caused saddle sores, and the gods knew my butt hurt. Susanoo’s balls, my thighs, my calves, my back—parts of me I couldn’t identify—they all hurt. Takeo promised I would grow accustomed to being ahorse, but a month into our mission, I’d begun to doubt his words. When we exited the southern gate of Karu, and Takeo turned his mount eastward, my heart lurched.

“Uncle, the road to Hinode leads south,” I said, trying to inject a bit of Father’s authority into my voice. It was a foolish gesture that only had Takeo grinning at my attempt.

“You remember your lessons. This is good.”

Annoyed, I steered my horse up beside him. “So, Uncle, why are we going east now? That will take us through the mountains. It will add at least a month, perhaps two if the weather resists our passage.”

Takeo took my words in stride, never even glancing sideways. “Yes, a month or two sounds right, perhaps three with all of our guests slowing us down.”

Three months? Gods, I was about ready to hop off my damn horse and hobble back home on my tired, achy legs.

Takeo finally looked my way, a typical smirk on his lips. “We ride to pay homage to Shrine Katano. We cannot come south without visiting the brothers and respecting the gods.”

The gods? Seriously?

“Nephew.” Takeo lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “I know you struggle with, well, your belief in the gods, but I assure you, they exist. Shinigami himself took the Emperor’s messenger. You were there. Tell me you didn’t see him.”

The god of death. A kami . Yes, I had seen— something —but had it truly been a god?

My head lowered.

“Yoshi, listen to me. There is much you do not understand, especially where the gods are concerned. You do not see them when you go about your day, when you train, when you stand aside as your father rules. Few ever see them, though entire lifetimes pass. Yet they live. They move. They work for and against us.”

“They work against us?”

Takeo’s head turned sharply, as if he hadn’t believed I was really listening.

“Not against us, per se. I doubt some care enough to even look our way. Regardless, the rules of Heaven say they may not reach into our realm directly, but they find ways to influence events.”

Influence? Is that what the god of death had done when he plucked the messenger’s soul from our healer’s grasp? Influence ?

“I am no priest, Yoshi. All I know is that the gods are real and deserve our respect. It may be inconvenient and add time to our travels, but a flick of a divine finger would be far worse. Trust your uncle on this.”

Takeo had never spoken of the gods, not to me, at least. Kaneko laughed at the idea of divinity living beyond the clouds. He’d made fun of pious fools who tethered their fates, their very fortunes, to the whims of such beings. I’d tried to argue with him, more for something to rankle his humor than anything, but I wasn’t sure I fully believed one way or the other.

Too many strange things happened for there not to be something beyond us. The Shinto had their nature magic. The Buddhists wielded martial powers. Legend spoke of others who held even darker strengths, though I doubted such could exist without word spreading far and wide. The world was vast, and messengers were slow, but rumors spread on the wind.

I looked at Takeo, watched him, studied his features as he rode. There was no doubt on his face or in his posture. He was decided, which meant there was no point in arguing. I might be of senior rank within our family, but he held sway on this journey. Father had made it so.

“Fine, but can we try to push the pace a little?”

Takeo grinned, just a bit, then spurred his horse.

Even before the shrine itself came into view, I could feel it—a presence, heavy but not oppressive, as if the very air carried the whispers of something greater. The path leading up to the shrine was flanked by towering cedars, their trunks thick with age, their branches woven together like a protective canopy. Every so often, a small wooden torii gate rose along the trail, painted in deep vermillion, marking our passage through sacred ground.

By the time we reached the main shrine complex, the sunlight had softened into golden shafts filtering through the trees, bathing everything in a warm, divine glow.

And there, at the top of the steps, was the high priest. The aged man stood tall, his face lined with wisdom rather than age, his dark robes drifting in the breeze. His hair, though gray, was still thick and neatly bound, and when he lifted his arms in greeting, his eyes were sharp—assessing, knowing .

Takeo bowed deeply, lower than I had ever seen him bow to a priest before. I hurried to do the same. The priest ignored Takeo, studying me for a long moment before offering a faint smile.

“You are the son of Anzu Hiroki Daimyo ,” he said, his voice deep and steady.

I blinked. How had he known? We came unannounced. Gods, I hadn’t even known we traveled this way until Uncle had told me so.

This priest, this man of the gods, had not asked—he had stated it as an undeniable truth.

“Yes, honored priest,” I said, straightening.

His smile grew. “Yoshi- san , it is fitting that you visit this place along your journey. Come.”

Without another word, the old man turned and strode toward the inner shrine.

I glanced at Takeo, who simply smirked and gestured for me to follow.

The shrine was ancient, even older than Ashina Shrine. I’d never believed anything could be older than that sacred place. Ashina was the oldest place in the world—or so I had thought.

Wooden beams darkened by centuries of prayers towered above smooth stones, worn by countless footsteps of monks, Samurai, and emperors alike. Small bells chimed in the breeze, their soft, musical ringing a reminder of the unseen forces watching over this place.

The priest led us toward the main altar, where an enormous tapestry hung. It depicted a dragon and a young man—but not just any man. The Emperor. Akira Takashi- heika Tennō , a twenty-something version of the man, stood with his hand outstretched. From his palm, threads of golden light extended toward the heavens, connecting him directly to the gods. The dragon, clearly Nawa by her coloring and eyes, stood barely taller than the Emperor’s ceremonial headdress.

The sight sent a shiver through me.

“Your caravan is welcome to shelter for the night. My brothers enjoy any excuse to feast and crack open a cask or two.” The priest’s tone felt like a worn slipper, warm and cozy, molding itself perfectly around my foot.

“It would be our honor.” Takeo bowed again. I couldn’t remember him repeating the gesture so many times with other men. What was it about this particular priest in his far-away shrine that had my uncle offering so much respect?

As if summoned by some unheard bell, a pair of young boys in the dull brown robes of initiates appeared. “Show Yoshi- san to his chamber,” the priest instructed. “We begin our lesson this evening.”

“Lesson?” Takeo hadn’t said anything about lessons.

The priest quirked a brow. “Of course, Yoshi- san . There is much you must learn.”

I gaped, unable to piece thoughts together, much less words.

Takeo cleared his throat. When I glanced his way, his brow was furrowed, and he shook his head.

“Um, sorry, honored brother,” I added quickly. “I am eager to, um, learn. I meant no disrespect.”

“And none was taken, young master.” The priest’s eyes sparkled. “I must attend to our preparations. We will speak again following our meal.”

“When the Shinto throw a party, they really throw a party,” I muttered to Takeo through a mouthful of boar or deer—it could’ve been something else. I wasn’t sure. It was delicious and juicy and, gods, I could’ve eaten a whole one of whatever it was.

Takeo grunted, unwilling to part with his bite long enough to reply.

Spread before us was a feast fit for the Imperial Court. Every kind of meat and fish I could imagine lay ready for our sampling. Vegetables drenched in rich sauces filled side dishes. Sake, wine, and beer flowed freely.

“Maybe we should stay here a little longer, Uncle,” I whispered, wiping unnamed animal-juice from my mouth. “These people eat better than we do in the castle.”

Takeo snorted. “Natural magic has its advantages, does it not?”I shoved back my plate and rested my hands on my full, not-as-flat belly. “I could die happy here. Sweet Amaterasu, that was good.”

A laugh rumbled at my other side as the high priest finally ended his dining. “You are right to praise the gods for our bounty, young master. Right, indeed, for it is from them whence our feast comes.”

The gods again. Great. Could I not simply eat until my innards ached without someone spouting something about a divine being?

“It is time we spoke in private,” the priest said, ignoring my mental plea.

Great. Just great.

I grabbed my sake bowl and tossed back the last of the liquid fire. If I had to sit through a lecture about the pantheon, I would do it with a bit of a buzz.

“Please, honored brother, lead the way,” I said, bracing myself as I stood on wobbly legs.

The priest rose and motioned for me to follow him back into the room with the tapestry, the one I’d seen when we’d first arrived. After an interminable silence in which I thought I might’ve died a slow death, the man spoke.

“You come to learn, do you not?” the priest asked—though I doubted it was a question. “Yoshi- san , I see your doubts. You question the gods, yet your heart longs to believe.”

How could he know such things? I had never met this man. Hells, I had never even traveled this far south. How could he know my innermost thoughts? How had he heard beliefs I had barely—if ever—spoken aloud to anyone?

The old priest smiled, as though my bafflement was the most natural thing in the world.

“Yoshi- san , you will be Daimyo . There are secrets you must know, lessons you must learn. Your father and uncle began your training, but there is one tale that is not theirs to tell.”

A lesson outside a Daimyo ’s purview? What in all the hells?

“To rule this land is to grasp the hands of the gods. We are one with them, and they are one with us.”

One with the gods? Was this man mad? Were these the same gods who refused to show themselves, to help when we truly needed them? The same gods who allowed plagues, who allowed suffering and war and death? The same gods who allowed wakō to rape and pillage? Those gods were our . . . our what? Our partners? Our lords? Our—

“What I say to you now, you may never speak to another, save your father. Do you understand?”

“I don’t understand anything you’ve said.” I shook my head, then remembered myself and bowed. “Forgive me, brother. I mean no disrespect. It’s only . . . this is . . . it’s all so much.”

The priest’s smile carried the warmth and sincerity of a gentle breeze.

“Life is never simple. Answers are rarely clear. Truth is often buried beneath lies.”

Well, that cleared it all up.

“The Emperor is the tether,” the priest continued, undaunted by my continued discomfort. His gaze fixed upon the tapestry as his open palm pointed toward the representation of the Emperor. “The link between the mortal plane and the divine realm.”

I frowned, my fingers tightening at my sides. “I have heard this before, but only in vague teachings. It never made any sense.”

“Then allow me to explain.” The priest turned his gaze upon me. “You know magic exists in our world, yes?”

“Of course, everyone knows that,” I said more defiantly than I intended.

“But do you know why it exists?”

“I . . . uh . . . no. It just does. People are born with the spark.”

“A common belief, but not a particularly accurate one.” The priest chuckled. “Magic is a gift from the gods, given to us at the forming of these isles, the founding of these lands, to strengthen us, to aid us, to make us whole.”

I pursed my lips. “Okay, that fits with everything I know but doesn’t really explain anything.”

“Peace,” the priest said with a raised palm, his voice still pleasant, if laced with an undertone of growing annoyance. “This gift was not freely given.”

I frowned. That was not what I had been taught. The gods were supposed to be all-benevolent, all-loving, all-knowing. They were all-everything . Why would they give a gift with strings?

“The gods do not weave their power into the world blindly, nor do they give it freely. It is the Emperor who serves as the conduit, the tether between the Divine and the Mortal realms.”

I studied the golden threads in the tapestry. “Are you saying that magic only exists because the Emperor allows it?”

“Not quite.” He turned to me fully now, folding his hands within the sleeves of his robes.

“The Emperor does not ‘allow’ magic—he anchors it. He is the one who ensures that the power of the gods does not spill too freely into the mortal world, lest it destroy us all. Without the tether, magic would unravel, becoming wild, uncontrollable. It would consume everything. Or it would vanish altogether.”

“Storms, really?” My mind spun. “Wait. Which is it? Would it consume everything or vanish? Those are two very different outcomes.”

The priest nodded. “Yes, they are, and we have no idea. The Emperor’s line has never failed, so we have never seen what would happen should the tether be lost.”

I stared into the tapestry, begging it for insight, for some rational understanding of why this priest was telling me his tale. It had to be a tale, after all. None of this nonsense could be real.

Could it?

“Yoshi- san , the world teeters on the edge of an abyss. On one side is the Emperor and peace in our realm. On the other is the chaos and madness of war, the death of peace, the end of all things—at least, all things as we know them.”

A strange, weighted silence filled the shrine.

I felt my pulse quicken.

“The Emperor is not just a ruler, not just a figure of authority. He is the very foundation of balance,” I whispered, as much to myself as to the priest.

His expression was serene. “Now, you see.”

My eyes traced the threads of golden light connecting the Emperor to the heavens. I had grown up understanding the importance of the Emperor, but this was something else entirely. This was not just politics. Not just rule and governance.

This was power beyond comprehension.

“This is why the Emperor must always remain strong. Why he cannot falter.”

I nodded, a strange weight settling in my chest.

The burden of rule had always been something I understood in a distant, logical sense. I spent a lifetime watching Father rule our province, learning about the machinations of governing, the trials of statecraft, the trials of vassalage and lordship.

Never once had the power of the gods entered the equation. If ruling from the Jade Throne had felt a distant concern, the rule of Heaven was, well, celestial. It was so far removed from our daily lives as to feel irrelevant, immaterial.

But now, standing in the presence of these sacred truths, it cast a new light.

The Emperor was not simply a man.

He was the gods’ will made manifest. He was the tether—our tether—to the divine.

And if he failed . . .

So did the world.

“If what you say is true,” I said, carefully. “Why would my father oppose aiding the Emperor against a rebellion? He hasn’t outright refused, but he clearly does not want to send troops or commit our province to war. If he knows all of this, how could he refuse the Emperor’s call?”

The priest’s head bowed, and his eyes closed. When he spoke, his words were small, and the very man appeared to shrink before me.

“Your father is a great man. He has guided this land with diligence and honor. The people love him.”

“But?”

“But he holds doubt near to his heart.”

Doubt? Father never wavered, never flinched. He knew his word was law—and he knew what was right. Doubt wasn’t a word I would ever use to describe him or his actions.

The priest, apparently seeing my inner turmoil, lifted his head and attempted a weak smile. “Yoshi- san , you are still young with many years before this burden rests on your shoulders. For now, bearing this knowledge is enough. Use your time on the road, aboard ship, and with my Buddhist brothers, to think, as well as train.”

Think? Gods, how could I think after he’d given me so much . . . oh . . . to think about. Right. Think. Yes. I should do that.

I stared up at the tapestry, and the images began to move. The Emperor’s hand raised, and the rays of light shimmered. The world beneath his feet revolved, and he strode, as if a giant traversing the land. Above, a brilliant sun whose face was a stunning image of Amaterasu’s beauty shed her grace through the golden tethers upon the mortal lord.

Transfixed was inadequate to describe my attention as I stared at the fabric. I could feel each movement, sense the Emperor’s power, revel in the goddess’s glory and grace. For the briefest moment, I felt part of the weaving.

Then the Imperial gaze snapped to mine and fixed me in place, and another presence, a mighty force, filled my heart and head in ways I couldn’t begin to comprehend. It felt like I was a simple vessel being filled with molten gold or lava—and somehow, weak though I was, I was expected to hold it, to not spill a drop, to not disintegrate beneath its fiery weight.

I might have forgotten to breathe.

And a voice, one I’d heard a few times before, echoed in my mind.

“Yoshi, you are called. Will you answer?”

Then Nawa’s presence vanished as quickly as it had entered my mind.