by Liz Delton
Pages and squires were gathered in small groups, some crying, others summoning Light weapons with rage upon their faces. Several masters were gathered at the opposite end of the room, crouching over someone laying on the floor. Zowan could see the person’s bare feet.
One of the masters turned and spotted Zowan, and his face morphed from sadness to outrage too quickly to assume that the outrage hadn’t been simmering underneath the grief all along.
“What is the meaning of this?” the man seethed at Zowan, advancing upon him.
Zowan’s eyes widened at the sight of the woman on the floor, the view now clear. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. She was dead.
“How would I know?” Zowan replied truthfully, warily. The condemnation on their faces was evident.
Zowan’s uncle had never been a patient man. The Storm King entered the chamber at that exact moment. The Shadow delegation streamed in silently behind him.
Their appearance incited more than just shouts of indignation. Several fights soon broke out. The Light warriors cried, “Murderer!” and worse, and the Shadows were unsure what to do other than hold them back.
It didn’t take long for the fights to turn into an outright battle; soon the chamber was filled with flashes of Light and the invisible strength of Shadow magic. The pages flung themselves out of the way, but a few squires remained to fight, standing tall, until more than a few were knocked down.
Zowan did his best to defend himself and his uncle. He didn’t understand why the Lights thought the Storm King and the Shadows had anything to do with the death of the woman on the floor. The Lights were ruthless, fueled by their fresh grief. Zowan didn’t want to hurt anyone—they were blind with grief and rage.
Finally, he snapped, batting away a glowing Light arrow aimed straight at his heart with a wave of Shadow magic. “Stop, stop! Stop this madness!” he cried. A burst of wind blew through the chamber.
It took a moment, but the fighting inside the chamber, and out—several scuffles had edged their way past the columns—stopped.
Given that Zowan had called the halt, every face turned to him, expectant.
“What’s going on here?” he reasoned. “Why are you fighting us?”
Several inarticulate shouts burst forth, but the man who had challenged Zowan at first shoved his way forward to be heard. His golden hair was singed by one temple, and a small trickle of blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. “Lady Asaka is dead,” he cried in agony. “You killed her!”
He raised a maligning finger at Zowan—but no, Zowan realized, his uncle was directly behind him.
“What proof do you have, Maito?” the Storm King asked coolly.
“Proof? Proof? What more proof do we need? She was found here, no sign of death upon her—none, other than suffocation, by Shadow magic.”
“Suffocation?” the Storm King drawled. “Are you sure it wasn’t one of tens of other ailments that strike silently and without evidence? I am not without sympathy for her loss, but—”
“We have evidence!” Maito nearly squeaked. He reached into his pocket and drew out something small. “You may save your sympathy,” he continued, his voice more controlled. “Or perhaps you will deny that this is not yours?”
Maito threw the small silver object at the Storm King. It bounced off his chest and landed on the floor with a clang. Zowan looked down and saw his uncle’s ring spinning on the white marble.
Zowan dared not look at his uncle. He would recognize that ring anywhere. It was the ring given to him by the Emperor when Raiden took over the Shadow temple. Zowan’s fists bunched involuntarily; he thought he might be sick.
“I would not deny that it is mine,” the Storm King said calmly, as if speaking to a child. “But I would also have it known that that ring was taken from me last evening as we camped outside of your temple.”
“Liar!” Maito spat.
“Why would killing Lady Asaka benefit me?” the Storm King retorted, sensing the mood of the crowd shifting, but it was too late.
Maito charged straight for the Storm King. A small but fierce Light dagger appeared in his hand. Zowan didn’t think twice; lunging to the right, he caught Maito by the shoulder.
The blade was in his hand before he knew it, fiery, sleek, and fatal. His right hand braced on Maito’s shoulder; the blade in his left sought Maito’s middle without Zowan’s awareness. After the fraction of a second that had passed, Maito slumped to the ground, Zowan’s fiery dagger crackling with rage and blood.
All hell broke loose. Zowan grabbed his uncle and they raced for the exit, the other Shadows dutifully covering them.
By the time they crossed the bridge in the garden, they stopped tracking blood from their footsteps.
***
Kira paused after dodging a strike from Zowan. He hadn’t let her stop practicing with the dagger as his story went on, but now she held up a hand to rest, panting.
“So that’s why Light and Shadow are fighting?” she got out between gasps. “They think the Storm King killed Lady Asaka?”
Zowan shook his head mournfully. “For what happened after.”
***
The Lights followed them out of the temple and into the forest. The Shadows couldn’t get away. Zowan didn’t know what drove the Storm King to do it—they had gotten separated—but all fighting stopped when they saw it.
The waterfall. It was moving.
Only the Storm King had such power to move a waterfall. Zowan watched in horror as the pounding falls moved ever closer to the Light temple…now empty of its knights and masters yet filled with cowering novices, pages, and its other residents.
Zowan pushed aside the Light knight he’d been fighting off and raced back to the temple.
He felt disembodied from his legs as he sprinted. Dozens of terrified pages streamed past him from the gate; the pounding water was already inside.
Zowan braced himself by the gate and concentrated. He yanked as much Shadow magic as he could from his surroundings and threw it up into the sky, a rough but nearly functional barrier of pure Shadow energy. A second later, the full force of the falls pounded upon it. Zowan pushed and pushed even more magic into the barrier. Dimly he felt and saw people hurrying past him, moving as fast as they could in the churning waters.
The crushing falls pummeled his barrier. He felt himself sinking into the mud, the icy water twining around his ankles. When he felt he could hold it no longer, his out-of-focus eyes spotted the briefest of movements. A woman, the entire side of her head drenched in blood, staggered toward the gate, a young girl clutched in her arms.
Zowan couldn’t hold it much longer. Please, he thought at the woman, too weak for spoken words. Hurry.
The terror of letting go of the barrier and murdering the woman and child in front of his very eyes kept him from doing just that.
She didn’t speak, but when she reached Zowan, she grabbed his arm, drawing him away. He didn’t know how many people might still be in the temple or trapped by the flood waters. He didn’t know why his uncle would do such a thing. But he assented to the woman’s pull, letting her drag him away, focused only on holding the barrier until they were safely away.
***
Kira had stopped without realizing it, but so had Zowan. He stared transfixed at the stream behind her, twisting his own dagger in his hands. Before she could speak, he fixed her with a look. “My uncle didn’t appreciate my interference, just as much as he didn’t like the Lights accusing him of murder.”
“Did he really do it? Did he kill the Lady?” Kira wanted to know.
“We never spoke face to face after that day, but judging from his reaction, I’d say yes, yes he did.”
***
Zowan returned Kira to the temple in the early evening, her muscles aching from the unexpected weapons practice. After he spoke of the Fall of Azurite, he had drilled her relentlessly on the movements he taught her with the dagger. It was much like Master Tenchi’s combat class, with the added danger
of the sharpened blade.
Kira’s mind was reeling from Zowan’s story. Now she finally felt like she understood everyone’s hatred toward the Storm King. Lady Asaka, all the innocent people inside the temple—no wonder the Lights held such animosity toward Shadow.
On their way back, Zowan had his horse Briar walk and explained a handful of the skirmishes, plots, and attacks that had happened since the Fall of Azurite.
“Zowan, what’s that?”
Kira was pointing at a small structure just off the side of the road. It was made of stone, and Kira could see several statues inside it. Two jars of flowers stood at its base. Kira remembered seeing similar structures on her way to Gekkō-ji with Anzu.
“Oh, right, you wouldn’t know.” He slowed Briar. “It’s a shrine to a local spirit. They’re all over the realm. How much do you know about the spirits of Camellia?”
“Not much,” Kira replied, wondering if she should tell him about her encounter with the spirit of the mountain.
“Well, the good news is that they’re all local, so you wouldn’t know about the spirits in the Light region, anyway. I think this one is for one of the archery spirits.”
Indeed, Kira now spotted a stone carving of an arrow at the top of the small shrine.
Before they reached the stairs to Gekkō-ji, Kira had a thought. “Don’t you work for the Empress?”
“On occasion.”
“Why doesn’t she do something about the feud?”
Zowan sighed quietly. “Empress Mei comes from a clan long steeped in Light history, though she does not have the magic herself. She never sent aid to the Storm King, yet she won’t condone a strike on him directly. The Grand Steward is tasked with ending the feud, but he’s more interested in talk than action. They leave the feuding up to the temples, even though it taxes all of Camellia.
“The Empress and her council have enough going on—Jardin’s forces have been encroaching on Camellia’s borders, not to mention the raiders from Ga-Mir…” He trailed off with a sigh, but it sounded like an old complaint.
“But it’s been going on for so long,” Kira pressed. “Wouldn’t it be better for the Empress if Camellia was united?”
Zowan sighed and reined Briar to walk even slower. They were nearing the temple but still out of hearing range of the guards at the outer gate.
“Well, of course it would be better, Kira, but it’s much easier to say something should be done than to actually bring it about. No one’s going to forget about Lady Asaka and the Fall of Azurite any time soon, not to mention faults on both sides since then. Though I fear if we don’t do something soon, both sides will merely destroy each other, piece by piece.”
Chapter Fifteen
Grey Knight
Tucked in her belt, the hilt hidden by the hem of her vest, Kira’s new dagger felt reassuring against her hip. Before departing, Zowan had reminded her of her homework: to figure out whether the dagger was made of Light magic or not. She wasn’t allowed to ask the masters, her friends, or even Jun. Zowan said he would know if she did. She doubted it, but she would keep to her word. She had one week.
At dinner, she could tell Jun wanted to ask her how her day with Zowan had gone, but both of them knew she couldn’t answer truthfully in front of everyone else. Hikaru was unashamedly jealous that Kira was being advanced to page so soon—and he admitted as much as he, Kira, Jun, and Nesma left the courtyard behind the kitchen house.
“But it’s going to be a lot of work,” Nesma said to Hikaru as they crossed the open temple square. “The lessons will be much harder—”
“—And you get to train with Zowan the Defector, too,” Hikaru cut across her, still in awe. “Does Master Starwind think you might have the potential to become a Grey Knight? Is that why you’re training with a Shadow?”
Kira shrugged and, to her surprise, felt a spark of excitement ignite in her chest at the idea.
“Do either of your parents have Shadow magic or just Light?”
The spark flickered and went out. For some reason, Kira’s face flamed red, and she was glad the moon was waning—there was only a quarter of it left and not much natural light to see by. Colors, and blushing cheeks for that matter, were not illuminated by Light magic.
“I don’t know,” Kira said, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “They’re gone,” she added quietly. It was enough to twist a wrenching rip around her heart, but it was also enough to get Hikaru to stop questioning her about it. He bit his lip and changed the subject.
Even though she had grown up knowing that her father was dead, the places she held in her heart for both of her parents now seemed inflamed and raw. Knowing now what she did about the Realm of Camellia, she was more confused than ever. Were Ichiro and Nari right? Had she and her mother really come from here?
And what of her father? Kira’s mother had never wanted to talk about him.
They said their goodbyes beside the glowing cherry blossom tree, and Kira and Nesma headed for the girl’s dormitory house in silence. Nesma was easy like that. Kira’s mentor was good at reading other people’s emotions. It made Kira smile a little at Nesma when they reached the gallery to the dormitory house and went inside.
Though she hadn’t had a chance ever since Nesma had shown it to her, Kira was beginning to think it might be time to go to the library. Zowan’s lesson had opened something in her. She needed to know more about Camellia—and whether it really was possible that she had come from here. Knowing the truth couldn’t be any worse than living in the dark. There might have been oblivion in the dark, but obliviousness was not always smart.
Kira lay awake for hours. Nesma fell asleep quickly, since she, Jun, and Hikaru had spent much of the day weeding the garden. Hana and Michi returned some time later and eventually settled in and began to slumber. All the while, Kira lay motionless, staring up at the ceiling, agitated.
Her mind kept going back to the Fall of Azurite. She couldn’t help but picture the powerful waterfall pounding upon the temple, the deadly falls uncaring what they destroyed. The people inside the temple, oblivious to the danger until the water struck. Rooms filling too quickly to escape as the waters surged through the temple grounds.
Finally, she got up from her bed and headed for the door, her feet silent on the wooden floor. She slipped on her soft leather shoes sitting by the door. With a second thought, she returned to her bed and grabbed the knife Zowan had given to her, which she had hidden under her mattress.
A slight smile rose to her lips at the fact that she needed to turn no lights on nor find a flashlight. She slipped out the door and into the cool night air.
She had guessed it was around midnight, and her guess was pretty close, she realized when she spotted the blazing clock on the Moonstone. It shone nearly as brightly across the courtyard as the cherry blossom tree.
The temple grounds were empty, but she stole quickly through the dark spaces beside the buildings as she made her way to the library. Then she realized with a small jolt that anyone with Light magic would be able to see her anyway, so she quickened her pace further.
Second and third thoughts bombarded her mind as she spotted the entrance to the library. In the daylight, it had been strange enough. The opening distinctly reminded her of the subway entrances in New York, except the library’s was much cleaner. With a hasty look around, she trotted down the stairs. She wasn’t entirely sure if she would get in trouble for being out this late, but she didn’t really want to find out, either.
She edged her way down the short hallway leading inside and paused at the great gilded doors. A few torches inside the library remained lit. The sparkling stones embedded in the ceiling glittered in the shadows above. Now that it was night, she could see Light magic outlining everything the torches didn’t reach. Seeing no one, she darted inside.
If I wasn’t allowed to be here, they would have locked the doors, she thought, creeping into an aisle to examine the books more closely.
She didn’t really know w
hat she was looking for—answers about her parents, or about other visitors from the Starless Realm, or more about the Fall of Azurite—so she merely picked a shelf and read the titles. It wasn’t as if she could ask a librarian. She didn’t even know if there was one.
A leather-bound book caught her eye almost immediately. It looked new, which was probably what had drawn her attention. In dark impressions on the cover, it said, Grey Knights of Camellia.
It was a good enough place to start as any. She sank down in front of the bookshelf, with her knees pressed to her chest, and opened it. She flipped through the pages, knowing she didn’t have all night to read. Eventually, she would become tired enough to go back to bed. That was the hope, anyway.
She stopped flipping at random about three-quarters of the way through and began to read:
After the tragic disappearance of his wife, Sir Rokuro Starwind summoned the other Grey Knights, who, at the time, were scattered across the Realm engaged in various battlefronts with the Storm King’s vicious forces. Within a fortnight, all six of his brothers-in-arms answered his call.
The assembly of all Grey Knights of the Realm, the Camellia Seven, was normally a cause for great ceremony. This day, however, all seven knights were somber, keen to help Sir Rokuro, who had always been a brave and loyal friend.
Sir Rokuro’s wife had last been seen near Heiko. They were all perplexed, knowing that Heiko was nowhere near the Shadow forces. Sir Rokuro had searched the entire area many times before summoning the others but had finally conceded to needing their help. He was not ready to admit that his wife was truly gone. He still believed there was a chance that Shadow forces had kidnapped or harmed her to spite their enemies.
So the Grey Knights separated, each searching to the far corners of the Realm.
Many months passed. The skirmishes with the Storm King’s forces first drew one Grey Knight, then another from their search. Sir Jovan Kosumoso, Sir Rokuro’s long-time friend, was the last to stop looking.