by Renee Ahdieh
With a heavy sigh, she turned back to the steaming iron pot.
Arrows screamed into the dirt nearby, their feathers notched to create sound.
“Warning arrows.” Yoshi dropped the bowl of ground ginger, and it broke into pieces as soon as it struck the forest floor.
Mariko scrambled up the hill as several members of the Black Clan rushed to look at the color of the arrows’ feathered fletchings. Ranmaru stopped short beside Mariko, his sword already in hand.
Red.
Which meant that armed intruders had been sighted in close proximity to camp.
“How did they find us so quickly?” Mariko’s whisper was hoarse.
“A dark magic haunts these trees,” Ranmaru said. “Like calls to like. If the soldiers have a way to commune with the yōkai, then it’s possible one of the spirits has led them past our traps.”
The ground beneath them grumbled.
Ranmaru looked behind them. “The mountain is talking again.”
“What is it telling us?” Mariko felt the warmth of Ōkami’s presence at her back.
The Wolf pointed over her shoulder to the tree line. “That we are out of time.”
When Mariko saw the crests flying above the row of mounted samurai in the distance, she nearly collapsed.
The crest of the Minamoto clan. Alongside the crest of her own family.
At the head of the troop sat her brother.
The Dragon of Kai.
—
He’d begun in the clearing. The fateful clearing where his sight had left him. And all that remained was feeling.
The feeling of being threatened. Of being lied to.
Of being hunted.
Kenshin had lashed out that day. Cut down any and all who strode near. When he’d awoken, he’d found his sword covered in blood. The bodies of the old man and the boy and girl who’d worked alongside him had seared into his vision.
In his dreams, it was the fox that had saved him.
It was the fox that saved him now.
When Kenshin had begun searching through Jukai forest for any signs of the Black Clan, the creature had led him to another watering hole. Where an enormous man—nearly three heads taller than anyone else present—with a broken wrist sat drinking himself into a stupor.
This disgruntled giant had told him to ride toward the mountain. To gather Takeda Ranmaru’s topknot. And bring it back to him so he could collect a bounty from a nearby daimyō. A bounty that would allow him to regain the respect of his men.
Kenshin had been pleased when Raiden had first offered to accompany him. To help rescue his sister. The feral creature Kenshin had seen that night through the flames around the granary was not Mariko. She’d been crazed. Savage. So unlike the gentle scholar Kenshin had always known.
It must have been these men—these bloodthirsty mercenaries of the Black Clan—who had turned her into such an unimaginable version of herself. Who had made her descend to her baser instincts in order to survive.
Kenshin would destroy each of these men—tear them limb from limb—for what they had done to his sister. For what they had done to Amaya.
But all was not lost.
Mariko had warned him. Indeed that message could have come from none other than his sister. She’d told the blind man to seek Kenshin out. To save the granary.
Just as he intended to save Mariko today.
He would root out this evil from Jukai forest, once and for all. With the emperor’s son and his sister’s betrothed at his side. With the might of the empire at his side.
Hattori Kenshin would right the wrongs of this forest.
And learn exactly what its trees had to hide.
—
The mountain grumbled once more, this time even louder. As though it were warning everyone present that the sun was on the cusp of disappearing. That all light was about to be lost. Mariko grabbed her katana and searched for Ōkami. The Wolf had moved to direct other members of the Black Clan into the trees, as they’d decided early on.
What they lacked in numbers they planned to make up for in higher ground. Mariko was supposed to have climbed into her post immediately. But she’d stopped to help Ren. Her erstwhile tormenter still had not gathered enough provisions or adequate weapons for the pending siege.
And now they were out of time. Not all of them would make it to their assigned posts. Not all of them would be able to fend off the attack.
When the arrows started to rain down through the trees, Mariko knew they’d also lost the option to flee. Her eyes flitted across the rapidly darkening underbrush, searching for something, unable to find—
“Follow me.” Ōkami moved alongside her, sure-footed, even through the rising gloom. He hoisted Mariko into a tree before climbing into position at her side.
“Anate!”
The call for another volley of arrows echoed from the woods beyond.
Ōkami grabbed the wooden shield and yanked Mariko against his chest. The solid beat of his heart thudded in her ear as arrows pounded into the shield and struck the branches around them.
The thunder of hooves followed soon after the last arrow volley. When the mounted samurai came into range, the Black Clan began firing back.
Mariko reached into her pouch of throwing stars. And took a deep breath.
Ōkami ripped an arrow from the tree trunk before firing it into the first wave of charging cavalry. “Fight back, Hattori Mariko. I know he’s your brother. But his men are not making the distinction. And neither should you.”
“I know.” She gritted her teeth.
“The only power any man has over you is the power you give him.” Ōkami fired another shot, and a soldier tumbled from his horse below.
At that, Mariko rolled her shoulders, took aim with her throwing star, and hurled it into the darkness.
She’d managed to injure three samurai and take down another warrior from his steed before she noticed something. Mariko could not see her brother anywhere. If she knew Hattori Kenshin at all, she knew her brother would be at the vanguard of any fight.
Something was wrong.
Mariko looked past the trees. And saw torches in the distance.
But they were not normal torches.
They were immense. Rounds of fire bigger than Yoshi’s iron cauldron.
“We have to get down.” She gasped. “Tell all the men to climb down from the trees at once.”
The Wolf loosed another arrow. “What?”
“Do it now, Ōkami!”
Across the way they heard a shout. Mariko saw Yoshi tumble from a tree to the ground, breaking several branches along the way. Ōkami whistled loudly before vaulting to the forest floor to help him.
At that moment, the first ball of fire was catapulted in their direction.
And the sound of men screaming in terror began.
THE PHOENIX
It is over,” Kenshin shouted to the trees.
Smoke curled in the night air before Mariko’s brother. Blood scented the leaves at her sides. Fire smoldered against the forest floor. She strained once more to see any signs of Ōkami and Yoshi, but could not make out anything beyond the wall of smoke to her left.
“Reveal yourselves,” Kenshin said grimly. “Return my sister. And the rest of your men might live through this night.”
“And if I refuse?” Ranmaru replied. His back was to a tree trunk beyond her brother’s view. The leader of the Black Clan smiled at Mariko as he spoke, but it did not touch his eyes.
“I will set fire to every tree in this forest.”
Ranmaru’s laughter was bitter. “Then you—and your sister—will burn with us.”
“This forest is not yours to control anymore,” Mariko’s betrothed said, his voice clear and firm.
“I was wondering why you chose to show yourself toda
y, Raiden-chan.”
“Who is that?” Raiden said, urging his horse forward.
Ranmaru stood, his back still to the tree. “We played together as children. Would you know me if you saw me now?”
“Show yourself.” Mariko watched Raiden dismount from his black warhorse. “You have taken my bride prisoner. I propose a trade. Return Hattori Mariko to me, and I will return something of great value to you.”
“And if I refuse? Will you then burn your bride as well?”
A breath of tense silence passed. “Reveal yourself.” Raiden turned to the samurai behind him, taking hold of a sheathed sword from the warrior’s hand. “And I will give you that which your father lost so many years ago.”
To Raiden’s right, a grey fox shifted into view, staring at Mariko through the smoldering trees. Before darting back into the shadows.
“I have no interest in anything you might have to offer.” Ranmaru did not even look to see what it was. Instead he reached for Mariko’s hand and squeezed it once.
The torch at Raiden’s side rendered his smile sinister. A smile that would—on any other occasion—be pleasing to most young women’s eyes. But never to Mariko’s. Not after this night. “I think you do not know what it is I possess.”
Ranmaru sighed quietly. “I think you do not know what it is you seek.” Nevertheless the leader of the Black Clan let go of Mariko’s hand.
And moved into view.
—
Ōkami wiped the blood from Yoshi’s mouth as he listened to his dearest friend barter with the son of his greatest enemy.
Yoshi coughed again, and more blood trickled from his lips.
“You can’t die yet, old man,” Ōkami said with a sad smile.
“And you can’t tell me what to do, you ungrateful boy. You gave up that right long ago.” He returned the smile, then winced.
Ōkami glanced at the wound in his side. At the blood leaking from the arrow puncturing Yoshi’s stomach.
Slowly killing him.
“Are you going to let him do this?” Yoshi whispered.
Ōkami wiped the blood from his mouth once more.
“Don’t let him do this,” Yoshi continued in an urgent whisper. “The young lord has done everything he can to make up for what happened those many years ago. For what his father did. Please forgive him.”
“There is nothing to forgive, Yoshi-san.”
“Then don’t let the young lord die to keep your secret.”
“I would die before letting anything happen to him.” Ōkami inhaled slowly. “And it didn’t begin as my secret.”
“It was always your secret. The young lord made it to protect you.” Yoshi cringed in pain. “Now it is your turn to protect him. Do this for me. Do this for your father.” He reached for Ōkami’s hand. “Be as swift as the wind. As silent as the forest.”
Ōkami wrapped both hands around Yoshi’s bloodied fist. “As fierce as the fire. As unshakable as the mountain.”
“Rise from the ashes,” Yoshi said. “And take your rightful place.”
—
The leader of the Black Clan moved forward warily. The sound of bowstrings being tensed murmured through the branches.
Mariko watched Ranmaru shift toward her betrothed. For an instant, she was unnerved by how much bigger Minamoto Raiden appeared. Ranmaru was not small. But Raiden was far broader in the shoulders. His armor and the twisted horns curling from his helmet made him seem more powerful than Ranmaru in all the ways that mattered. Especially on the field of battle.
Like the remainder of her shadow warrior brethren, Mariko crouched forward, brushing her thumb across the surface of her last throwing star.
Ready to strike.
She tried to ignore the hurt that filled her eyes when she glanced her brother’s way. Mariko could never take aim at Kenshin. Her brother had asked after her. But he’d not attempted to make a trade before raining arrows down upon the Black Clan. Before catapulting spheres of fire into the trees. Any of which could have killed her. Any of which nearly did.
Her brother had been more concerned with causing harm than he’d been with finding a solution.
Just like her father.
Ranmaru paused before Raiden. He stood tall. Fearless.
With a wicked gleam in his eye, Raiden unsheathed the sword in his hands. Mariko flinched from the sight.
The metal of the sword was not fashioned of normal steel. It gleamed white, like a flash of lightning. Like something enchanted with an otherworldly light. A vague memory began to take shape in the deepest recesses of Mariko’s mind. An old story, whose words were just beyond her grasp.
Ranmaru did not reach for the sword.
“Do you not recognize this weapon?” Raiden asked.
Ranmaru’s back was to Mariko, but she saw his hands turn to fists. “You have no right to that sword.”
“I have every right.”
“Your father murdered mine in cold blood. Return that sword to its rightful owner.”
“Return my bride.”
“A girl is not a sword. And no price is worth that trade.”
Raiden took a step forward. “You truly believe that? This sword has been in your family for a thousand years. Your ancestors would turn over in their graves to see you disregard its significance.”
“My ancestors”—Ranmaru took a breath—“would never agree that a weapon is worth a life.”
Raiden brandished the sword, swinging it from one side to another in a slow arc. “It’s a magnificent blade. I’ve never seen its equal. When I was told to return it—to offer the sword in exchange for my bride—I thought the same as you do now. That no weapon could be worth a life.” He brandished it once more. The final arc brought it within reach of Ranmaru’s face. Raiden held it there for a breath. The sword remained an eerie, almost pearlescent white. As though diamonds had been ground upon its surface.
Ranmaru remained staunchly unmoved. Though Mariko watched his fists open and close twice.
“You do not recognize this sword. And it does not recognize you,” Raiden said slowly. “Who are you?”
When Ranmaru failed to answer, Mariko’s heart missed a beat. The lost story took its place on her tongue with a sudden, seizing clarity.
The Takeda sword. The Fūrinkazan. It had been taken from the Takeda clan when its family had fallen from grace. An enchanted weapon. A sword of light.
A sword meant to be carried only by a member of the Takeda clan itself.
A flurry of words collided in her mind, searching for order amidst chaos. Seeking truth amidst lies. Then the sword began to glow. Faintly. But surely. Its blade began to warm and flicker. The light emanating from its core was pure white.
From the shadows, a sinewy figure moved into view, through a haze of smoke.
His hands and face were covered in blood. He walked as though he were weary. Old.
Broken.
Mariko watched, frozen in place, as Ōkami stepped closer. Still soundless. Stalking through the night.
Raiden kept the sword steady. His features drew together in confusion, then smoothed as Ōkami—the Wolf—stepped beside the leader of the Black Clan.
His best friend.
With a satisfied smile, Raiden nodded at Ōkami. “I’ve heard a great deal about you, Takeda Ranmaru.”
—
The only son of the last shōgun stopped before the elder son of his mortal enemy. The man who had brought about the death of his father.
Ōkami did not flinch from the sight of his father’s sword. The Takeda sword. A weapon he had considered lost. And good riddance to it.
The Fūrinkazan was a weapon meant for a man of truth. A man of principle.
Not a pretender. Not a thief. Not a liar.
Not a coward.
And yet the sight of it in Minamo
to Raiden’s grasp had ignited a long-dormant emotion. A feeling rich with strife. Rich with history. Replete with vengeance.
Ōkami had denied it for so long.
And his dear friend? His best friend. The son of Asano Naganori. The boy who had—for nearly seven years—assumed his mantle. Ōkami had never asked him to do so. Tsuneoki had done it to keep him safe. Had done it to make amends for the betrayal of his father. The actions that had led to the death of Takeda Shingen.
But—at his core—Ōkami had known there was more to it. More that his best friend had not yet said. He’d hoped Tsuneoki would tell him in time.
He owed his dearest friend this. He would not allow Asano Naganori’s son to perish in his stead. Or answer for his own reticence.
“What is it you want, Minamoto Raiden?” Ōkami asked.
Ōkami. It was a name gifted to him when he’d first entered the fighting ring not long after he’d bartered the last of his family’s wealth to gain his abilities. A story for another time. From another life.
The Honshō Wolf.
He had never corrected anyone. He had sought only to learn. To destroy. To know what it felt like to feel truly powerful. To truly understand what had been stolen from his family.
Raiden studied him, taking in his bloodied appearance. No doubt pleased to see how broken and weary Ōkami appeared. “My bride was captured on her way to Inako.”
The way he referred to Mariko as his irritated Ōkami immensely. Almost as much as the pompous cut of the fool’s armor. “Not by me or by any of my men.”
“It does not matter. She is here now.”
Ōkami breathed through his nose. “Are you quite certain of that?”
“We are,” the Dragon of Kai said curtly.
“She does not answer to you,” Ōkami replied in equally arrogant fashion.
Hattori Kenshin moved forward, attempting to intimidate his quarry. “She answers to her family. To her duty.”
“Mariko answers only to herself,” Ōkami said without flinching.
“Mariko?” A smirk began to form across Raiden’s face.
“She is one of us,” the leader of the Black Clan answered simply. “And you will not lay a hand on any of our warriors.”