Page 5

Chapter 5

Yoshi

“ K aneko, just cut my head off. Right here, at the neck. One stroke. I know you can do it.”

My friend laughed and held up his bokken . “I don’t think this will do much more than purple your skin.”

“Find a katana , damn it. Are you my friend or not?”

“Always, but friendship precludes beheading, unless you are committing suicide and require a second. Then I will gladly lop off that smug face of yours.”

I peeked up from my sulking to catch Kaneko grinning from ear to ear.

“You don’t have to sound so eager,” I grumbled. “Don’t make me regret getting you into the audience.”

His whole bearing shifted, like a cord suddenly pulled taut. “The Emperor. Yoshi, we’re going to meet a living god!”I closed my eyes and begged the throbbing pain to ebb.

“We won’t actually meet him. It’s not like he’ll speak to us or anything. Mother says the Emperor’s court is strict with its etiquette.”

“Can your Prince survive that?” he teased.

I grunted. What I remembered of the previous night was anything but courtly or proper.

“Just remember what they taught us, okay?” I said. “This is important, Kaneko. The Emperor’s people take great offense to, well, anything outside of their sacred rites.”

His head bobbed like a cork. “I know. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Forehead to the stones. No eye contact. No sudden movements. No farting.”

My head snapped up.

Kaneko grinned. “I added that one. It seems to fit.”

“Gods, I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. I may never know why, but you like me,” he said, lying back to stare up at the now-calm sky. The storm that ravaged the coast passed in the night, leaving a crystal-blue sky with scant clouds in its wake.

I turned to watch as Kaneko’s eyes shifted from one cloud to the next. His words were little more than an affirmation of our friendship, but something in them stung—or pricked, or felt, I don’t know, more important than his usual banter.

Before I could consider them more deeply, there came the sound of a horn peeling three crisp blows that echoed off the nearby mountainside. A heartbeat later, the call repeated, sounding even more urgent.

“Look!” Kaneko pointed out past the harbor across the sea.

“Holy storms! How many ships are there?”

Kaneko shielded his eyes and squinted. “One huge one in the middle of two—no, three others.”

“Look behind those. There’s four more.”

Kaneko whistled. “Did he bring the entire capital? How will you feed them all?”

I groaned. Leave it to a fisherman’s son to think of food.

“We need to get back and change. Mother will kill us both if everything isn’t perfect.”

“Right,” Kaneko said, his voice falling. “You still okay lending me something to wear?”

The son of a fisherman, Kaneko would never own—or be able to afford—the finery required to stand at court for hours on end, and he would never be allowed in the Emperor’s presence wearing rags that smelled of the sea. Hells, he wouldn’t have even been allowed near the Mugen Empire’s ruler had I not begged Mother to allow it. He was common, and this was a royal affair. She’d almost held her ground, but I turned on my most pitiful pleading, and my soft-hearted mother had relented.

Still, I knew it bothered him, having to borrow clothes simply to be presentable, but there was nothing to be done for it. If he wanted to stand in the audience hall when everything took place, he had to dress the part, and I was glad I could do this for him. I knew his true worth. He deserved it, no matter what anyone else might think.

The Emperor had not brought the entire capital.

He had, however, assembled a small town’s worth of family, Samurai, courtiers, advisors, monks, priests, and servants to accompany him on his voyage. When the first ship docked and two dozen men unloaded a gilded carriage pulled by four horses, I knew I’d underestimated the Crown’s traveling complement.

By the time the Emperor’s galleon finally settled at the pier, a hundred Samurai lined the planks, black armor gleaming and katana at the ready. Two dozen men and women in purple, blue, and emerald robes wearing ridiculously tall hats stood before the soldiers. Aboard the ship, lining the railing from bow to stern, heralds in royal livery beat drums and played shō , their ethereal tones sounding like twining voices of the gods. When two Samurai blew trumpet-like blasts on polished shells, the horagai ’s notes announced the Emperor’s approach.

As Haru had the day before, Akira Takashi- heika Tennō stood at the mouth of the walkway with one hand on the railing. Already ancient at fifty-nine summers, the Emperor looked even older with snowy hair that flowed halfway down his back and a thick, lustrous beard that trailed nearly to his waistband. His topknot was bound by a golden cuff encrusted in emeralds, diamonds, and pearls that gleamed in the sunlight. And his robe . . . his sokutai shimmered as a golden beacon only the sun could eclipse.

Never before had I seen such brilliance, such unbroken gold splayed across the body of one man. I truly was looking upon the son of our gods.

“Hear and obey! The Heavens bow, the earth trembles, and the seas part before the Radiance of the Divine! Presenting His Most August Majesty, Son of Amaterasu, Unbroken Light of the Empire, Living Bridge between Gods and Men—His Imperial Majesty, Emperor of the Mugen Empire,” the Grand Minister, now standing at the foot of the walkway on the dock, called.

Everyone, save the Samurai, dropped to their knees and pressed palms and foreheads to the dock.

Golden pinions snapped in the ever-present wind.

Only the gulls and the sea spoke.

The Emperor descended.

Without so much as an acknowledgement of the dozens of prostrated forms, the Emperor strode past us and climbed into his waiting carriage. Only when the door clicked shut did the Grand Minister call, “Rise and welcome Heaven’s Son.”

Where our return to the castle following Haru’s arrival had been a harried chase, following the Emperor’s procession was a plodding affair I thought might never end.

There were four horses pulling one man.

Why in all that was holy did they have to move so slowly?

Citizens of Tooi, eager to glimpse their divine ruler on his first visit to their island in centuries, lined the rain-slicked cobbles that led from dock to castle. Wave after wave of humble subjects fell to their knees in silent submission.

He did not wave.

The Emperor’s head never turned.

He merely stared forward, a god unperturbed by the throng of supplicants surrounding him.

Once inside the castle gates, the Emperor descended from his carriage, strode the length of the audience hall, and assumed Father’s throne precisely as his son had done the day before. Haru, dressed again in his finest ceremonial robes, stood on the step below the throne to his father’s right. The Grand Minister and Dai Shogun took up positions on the Emperor’s left, while all the other members of the Imperial family and courtiers found their spots, a perfectly choreographed dance in which every participant knew precisely where—and how—to stand.

By the time the last of our retinue entered, the hall was bulging at the seams with sweaty, sea-weary men and women clothed in far too many layers of heavy silk and armor. The Emperor’s presence inspired a sense of awe, but it was a curse on one’s olfactory senses.

No one stirred.

None dare speak.

“His Most August Majesty, the Son of Amaterasu, the Celestial Bridge between Gods and Men, the Radiant Light of the Empire, receives the devotion of this land,” Grand Minister Satoshi said. “Anzu Hiroki- sama , Daimyo of Anzu Han , Heaven’s Light shines upon you and your house. Let your words be spoken.”

Only then did Father dare look up, his eyes fixed on the bottom step, well below the Emperor, below even the great man’s feet. “This unworthy man is humbled beyond words by the divine presence of His Imperial Majesty. The sea, the sky, and the very stones beneath us rejoice at his arrival.”

Father’s voice was steady, unwavering, though the weight of every eye upon him must have been suffocating.

“From the moment the first light touched Anzu’s shores, our province has remained loyal to the Jade Throne. To serve is our sacred duty. To stand firm in his divine name is our greatest honor. This humble province is his to command.”

Silence stretched.

I wanted to look up, to see if the Emperor spoke to some minister or simply stared down at Father, but to move gave the gravest offense. All we could do was wait for Heaven’s decree.

The Grand Minister finally spoke again, “His Imperial Majesty, Unbroken Light of the Empire, acknowledges the loyalty of Anzu Han .”

Another pause.

Then he added, “The sea does not question the will of the storm, nor do the stars defy the sky. Thus, the fate of this land remains bound to the Empire, as it has been since the first breath of dawn. Let the duties of this province reflect its devotion.”

What did any of that even mean?

The man’s words were as neutral as they were baffling.

Was that an Imperial embrace or the smack of a tutor’s reed against an unruly pupil’s wrist?

Father’s words had been truly spoken. We were loyal to the Jade Throne. Why, then, did his Grand Minister sound so . . . uncommitted to our kinship? Why did the Emperor feel the need to declare us vassals bound in his service when Father had just said as much?

With a tone of finality and a crisp nod, the Grand Minister said, “The Emperor has spoken.”

On cue, Father stood, bowed deeply, and stepped backward, still bowed, until he reached the open doorway. Only then did he straighten, careful to avoid eye contact with his monarch, turn, and leave the hall.

The rest of us followed Father’s lead, bowing and backing out of the chamber.

The Emperor was carved of stone, never speaking, never moving. I doubted the man blinked. He was the mountain, and we were barely a breeze.

I knew, deep in my soul, as I rose from my bow in the doorway, that our lives would never again be the same.