Emperor of the Fireflies

by Sarah Ash

  “What are you doing here?” Yūgiri was so angry that Masao had taken such a risk in coming that he could hardly speak. “If Hotaru finds out, you’re as good as –”

  Masao leaned in and stopped his protest by pressing his mouth to his.

  So close.

  “Are you crazy?” Yūgiri said, eventually breaking free, breathless. But Masao drew him back, forcing him to look into the sea green of his eyes. For a moment Yūgiri felt as if he was drowning, sinking deep into the cloudy depths of the ocean. Drowning together. . . And then he heard Masao’s voice murmuring, his lips gently brushing against his ear, “I haven’t long, Yū. Is the sword finished?”

  “It’s finished. Inari herself came to bless the final forging. There’s just some work to be done to the hilt. Come and look.” He took Masao’s hand in his own and started to lead him further up the bank toward the forge. To his surprise, Masao did not move. Turning around, Yūgiri could just see in the moonlit darkness that his shoulders had begun to shake.

  “What’s wrong?” Yūgiri could not bear to think that the long weeks of imprisonment in the sea had begun to warp Masao’s sanity. You’ve always been my rock, Masao, you’ve stayed strong and dependable when others have crumbled. . . And then he realized that Masao was not weeping but quietly laughing.

  “Forgive me,” Masao said, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “It’s just so hard to believe that there might really be a chance of escape.”

  “But have you and Lord Kaito worked out a plan? How are you going to lure Kurika away from Hotaru?”

  “Kurika has already begun to defy his master. Luring him away shouldn’t be a problem.” The laughter died. “But defeating him is altogether another matter. And even if we defeat him, we still have to destroy the Sacrifice bond.”

  “But didn’t Lady Inari promise to help you if you seal Kurika away?”

  “She seems to have made some bargain with Kai. But he made her angry, so I hope –” The thought was left unfinished and Yūgiri glanced anxiously at Masao. Kurika was a formidable opponent; without the Rice Goddess’s support, all their endeavors could so easily fail.

  “First things first. I’ve brought payment for Kinkiyo for his work.” Masao stretched out his left hand, opening it to reveal what he had been holding. “Deep-sea pearls. He’ll get a good price for these.”

  “They’re beautiful.” The pearls gleamed dully in Yūgiri’s palm, reflecting the moonlight in their milky whiteness. “I’ll pass these on to Sakami.” He slid them into the purse on his belt. “We told Kinkiyo that the sword is a sacred treasure of her shrine, so it’s best that she should complete the transaction.”

  “How is Kinkiyo? And his daughter?”

  Yūgiri flinched. “Beniko is well,” he said awkwardly. Why is Masao so interested in her all of a sudden? She’s a widow now, she’s a commoner, acceptable as a mistress, perhaps, but never as a consort for one of Lord Toshiro’s sons.

  “What’s this?” Masao said softly. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

  Yūgiri turned his head away. He was confused. It was only natural for Masao to inquire after the smith’s family, so why had he overreacted?

  “Come here.”

  But Yūgiri could not move, paralyzed with shame. Am I really so needy?

  Before he could figure out what to say, Masao’s hand came down gently on the top of his head, turning it toward his own. “I thought – hoped – you knew me better than that.” And then Masao began to laugh softly again. “Damn it.” This time there was no warmth in his laughter, only frustration and despair. “Look.”

  The Sacrifice seal had lit up, glowing phosphorescently green in the darkness.

  “Ebb’s calling you back already?”

  “It means that I took so long to swim upriver that my time’s already up. I have to go.”

  Yūgiri reached out and caught Masao by the left wrist, covering the seal with his own hand. Beneath his fingers he sensed the ancient power of the tide pulsating, throbbing like the beat of a powerful heart. If he closed his eyes, he could sense Masao’s deep connection with Shiohiru, the immortal dragon, that was asserting itself so strongly, claiming its Sacrifice back.

  You can’t take him. Not yet. It’s too soon.

  Yūgiri’s arms tightened about Masao, as if sheer will and physical strength could hold at bay the powerful enchantment that was dragging his lover away from him again. Yet even as he held him, he felt Masao’s body liquefying, firm flesh and bone dissolving into water, flowing away toward the dark river, until he was left embracing empty air.

  Desolate, shaken, he stood staring at the fast-flowing current that had swallowed up the one who mattered the most to him and was even now dragging him back to the open sea.

  Chapter 33

  Naoki woke to a cloudy dawn and the sound of raindrops spattering against the roof. For a moment, he lay staring up at an unfamiliar low ceiling, wondering where he was – and then remembered that Kinkiyo had insisted he and his retainers stay the night. As he sat up, he felt a dull stab of pain in his temples. He winced. Too much sake.

  Raiko lay sprawled on his back beside him, one arm flung wide, a little trail of drool escaping his half-open mouth.

  Just like a child. Wide open. Utterly defenseless! If rival shinobi attacked us now, what use would he be?

  As Naoki got unsteadily to his feet, another stab resonated through his aching temples.

  He lurched toward the door screen, sliding it open to see Yūgiri standing on the veranda in the shelter of the low-hanging roof, watching the rain dripping off the shingles. He turned and bowed; a lock of milky hair fell forward, half-obscuring his face so that Naoki could not see his expression.

  He was gone a long while last night. What was he doing?

  “You look a little pale this morning, my lord.”

  “And so would you after enjoying Kinkiyo’s generous hospitality last night.” The rainy daylight hurt Naoki’s eyes; he could not focus accurately on Yūgiri and looked away.

  “Shall I do what I can to alleviate your suffering?”

  “As long as you don’t say ‘I told you so.’ I have to go to the imperial palace, so I mustn’t shame the clan by appearing at court nursing a hangover.”

  Thick-headed as he was, Naoki could not help noticing Yūgiri react at the mention of the palace. But the shaman swiftly covered his reaction, saying, “I’ll go and make an infusion to cure your headache.”

  “Make some for Raiko too,” Naoki called after him. “He’s coming as my chief retainer.” Although even as he said the words aloud, he realized how badly they must sound to Yūgiri’s ears. His chief retainer had always been Masao; and now Masao was lost to them, forced to take his place as Ebb’s Sacrifice.

  ***

  The imperial palace was like a miniature city set within the capital, filled with courtiers sporting their best autumnal gowns, a display of bronze, red, purple and gingko yellow to rival the falling leaves in the palace gardens.

  Naoki knew no one. Everyone he passed was unfamiliar – all except a beautiful boy he glimpsed wearing the imperial colors, hurrying past. That flawless pale skin, those haughty eyes. . . it has to be Kobai, Hotaru’s page.

  “Kobai – !” He called out but the boy had already gone and he was left feeling foolish, wondering who to ask and where to go.

  Raiko was staring about him like a child surrounded by toy stalls and masked dancers at his first summer festival.

  “Raiko; your mouth’s open,” Naoki said to him in an undertone. Raiko snapped it shut, glaring at him.

  We must look like a couple of provincial yokels to the courtiers. Naoki straightened his shoulders and walked on, trying to look nonchalant.

  ***

  “Lord Naoki is here?” Hotaru turned suddenly, to the alarm of the servants trying to adjust his state robes.

  “He’s in the main courtyard,” said Kobai.

  “This is fine as it is,” Hotaru said, weary of all the fussing over the lay
ering of his sleeves. At last. I was beginning to wonder if Naoki would come in time before the festival. “Leave us.”

  As soon as the attendants had retired, he asked Kobai, “Do you have the substitute katana ready?”

  “Just as you requested.” Kobai bowed. “The Red Kites were heading toward the Courtiers’ Hall.”

  ***

  Everyone seemed to be making for the imposing Courtiers’ Hall, so Naoki followed, only to be stopped at the entrance by a court official.

  “It is the custom of the imperial palace that all nobles remove their weapons before entering the emperor’s presence.”

  “But my master –” burst out Raiko before Naoki could stop him.

  “No slur on your honor is implied, my lord, it is just his imperial majesty’s preferred protocol. Your swords will be kept for you here, on specially prepared stands, and watched over by the members of the imperial household until your return.”

  “Very well.” Naoki nodded to Raiko to copy him and slid the sheathed katana from his belt, placing it on the carved stand; Raiko did the same, glowering at the imperial attendants who were standing by, their eyes respectfully downcast.

  Then he and Raiko followed the court official into the Courtiers’ Hall where several ministers and their secretaries had already assembled, talking quietly together as they awaited the emperor. Several turned around to stare at them. One or two whispered behind raised fans.

  “Lord Naoki of the Red Kite Clan,” announced the official.

  Naoki hesitated a moment, daunted at the sight of so many important men; then he drew himself up to his full height and strode to the place where the official indicated he should position himself. Let them stare. He crossed his arms defiantly as he stared back at the whisperers. The emperor summoned me, so I have every right to be here.

  “Welcome, Lord Naoki!”

  Surprised to be greeted so warmly, Naoki, caught off-guard, turned to see a tall, distinguished-looking man approaching. He was followed by a trail of secretaries and attendants. His hair and neatly trimmed beard were more silver than black but he spoke with the easy confidence of one well used to giving commands.

  “My lord.” Naoki bowed low.

  “Lord Nagamoto,” murmured the court official helpfully, “Minister of the Right. Father of the empress.”

  “I hear that you and Master Kinkiyo are going to treat us to a display of the firepower your clan has developed,” said Lord Nagamoto.

  “You’re too kind, my lord.” Although I’m not sure that I’d describe it as a treat. Naoki forced himself to smile and bowed again.

  “I believe that the day after tomorrow is an auspicious day, according to the Bureau of Onmyōdo.” Lord Nagamoto held out his hand, palm upward, and one of his attendants instantly hurried forward to place a scroll in it which the minister opened with a deft flourish. “Yes, it is indeed a good day. The next auspicious day will be the Autumn Moon Festival and that would not be suitable for such a display.” He looked at Naoki over the top of the scroll. “Does that give Master Kinkiyo enough time?”

  “Yes.” Naoki had no idea whether this was strictly true but he thought it best to agree. After all, it only requires an open piece of land to demonstrate the range of an iron dragon blast. And fair weather would be preferable.

  “Excellent.” Lord Nagamoto snapped the scroll shut. “Tell Master Kinkiyo to be ready by mid-morning for the imperial party to arrive.”

  “And what kind of provision should we make to receive our imperial guests?”

  Lord Nagamoto flapped one hand magnanimously. “There’s no need. Just make sure that the place chosen for viewing is suitable for his majesty; the imperial guard will ensure that no bystanders are allowed anywhere near his person.” And Lord Nagamoto walked on, his secretaries hurrying after him.

  Naoki bowed and, as he straightened up, Raiko leaned in, muttering, “The day after tomorrow? What will Master Kinkiyo say? Isn’t that too soon?”

  Naoki turned abruptly on his heel and walked away. At the entrance he swept his sword off the wooden support, striding off. He wanted to keep his clan in Hotaru’s favor, but the timing was far from ideal.

  Raiko hastened after him, calling out, “My lord – turn right at the lion dog statues –”

  “An auspicious day?” Naoki muttered. “For the emperor, maybe. But not for the Red Kites.”

  Chapter 34

  Kinkiyo reverently laid Inari’s sacred blade on a length of crimson brocade; the slender, curved blade reflected the forge firelight along its gleaming edge like a wave of flame.

  Sakami stared, awed. Her fingers itched to touch the polished sheen.

  “You’re a worker of miracles, Master Kinkiyo. Just a few days ago, this was nothing but a few lumps of misshapen metal. And now, it’s. . .it’s so beautiful. Isn’t it, Hisui-sensei?” She turned to Yūgiri to gauge his reaction and saw him staring at it, his blood-flecked eyes narrowed, unreadable.

  “Beautiful. . .and cruel,” she heard him murmur. “A sword created to pierce the soul of a god.”

  “Does it have a name?” Kinkiyo asked.

  “Lady Inari named it Foxfire-Fang.”

  Kinkiyo smiled, evidently satisfied with the name.

  “But how am I going to pay Master Kinkiyo for his time and trouble?” Sakami said in an undertone to Yūgiri.

  “Lord Masao has already thought of that.” He untied a small cloth bag hanging from his belt and showed her the contents: a handful of exquisite moon-white pearls.

  She gave a little gasp. “So pretty.”

  “And rare too. One of the few advantages of being a Tide Dragon Sacrifice.” He pressed the bag into her open palm, closing her fingers around it.

  “It must be hard for a great dragon to pry open oysters with his claws,” she said, tying the bag to her own belt.

  “I’m told that Shiohiru is surprisingly deft at such delicate tasks. But then, he is a god of the sea.”

  “I wish one of the Tide Dragons could take me back to Sakuranbo,” she heard herself saying out loud. “But land and sea can never mix, or so. . .so Inari told me.”

  “You look tired, Sakami-chan,” Yūgiri said. “Lean on me.”

  She blinked, realizing that he was already supporting her, one arm around her shoulders.

  “You’ve exhausted yourself helping Lady Inari to make the sword, haven’t you?”

  She nodded, grateful that he was there to rest against; beneath his slender frame, she could feel a lithe and supple strength.

  These Red Kites are tough; they train their minds and bodies every day from childhood.

  “She said,” she managed, “that I have to go back to the mountain. . .or I’ll fade to a ghost.” A pathetic little fox spirit haunting the crossroads, whining to go home.

  “She?” A little frown creased Yūgiri’s forehead.

  “Lady Chinatsu. The Celestial Fox guardian at the city shrine.”

  “Then you must go back to Sakuranbo. As soon as you feel ready to make the journey. Leave the rest to us.”

  “I have to fulfill my duty,” she said stubbornly. “Is there much else to do, Master Kinkiyo?”

  “Just the guard and the hilt.” The smith brought over some silk; blue and bronze. “I’ve already wrapped the hilt in ray skin. When that’s dried, the next stage will be to cover it with a tight weave of silk strips.”

  “Such delicate work,” Sakami said, impressed.

  “But it can’t be hurried,” Kinkiyo said with a craftsman’s stern pride in his work.

  “Kinkiyo!”

  Sakami recognized Lord Naoki’s voice and cast an imploring glance at Kinkiyo who instantly whisked the sacred blade away, putting it out of sight in a sturdy weapons chest.

  As she turned to leave, Lord Naoki came in and one look at his face, dark brows drawn together in a forbidding scowl, told her that he had returned from the palace in a foul mood. She slipped out of the door, hoping that he would not turn his anger against her.

  **
*

  “The emperor is coming here in two days’ time?” Kinkiyo dropped his hammer which fell with a deafening clang on the anvil.

  Naoki shrugged. “Lord Nagamoto said you need not make any special arrangements.”

  “Special arrangements?” The smith repeated incredulously. “It’s all I can do to demonstrate a single working iron dragon, let alone several. That saltpeter you brought from Sakuranbo needs much longer in the pit before it’s ready to use.”

  Naoki tried banish visions of a crowd of ministers watching expectantly as Kinkiyo lit the fuse on a single iron dragon. “So is there any fire drug at all?”

  “There’s a little left from the last batch we made on Akatobi Island.” Kinkiyo scratched his bearded chin, a distant look in his eyes which did not inspire confidence in Naoki. “Don’t fret, my lord; I keep it safe and dry – and far from the house.”

  “And where will you hold the demonstration?”

  Kinkiyo beckoned him to the doorway and pointed to a wide grassy area above the forge that ran down to the willows.

  “The imperial guard will clear away any unwanted bystanders,” he said. And then he laughed. “Don’t you worry, my lord. I’ll give the high-ups a show they won’t forget.”

  Already irritated and on edge, Naoki could not rid himself of the feeling that the Akatobi Clan’s reputation was on the line; if the iron dragon misfired – or didn’t even fire at all, he and his father would be disgraced in front of the imperial court.

  ***

  Kobai was waiting when Hotaru eventually returned from the Courtiers’ Hall. The page boy was holding a sword wrapped in a silken sash..

  “So you managed the substitution? And Lord Naoki didn’t even notice?” Hotaru seized the katana from Kobai’s hands, unraveling the silken sash to examine it closely.

  “But – this is not Lord Masao’s blade.” He searched the blade, sheath and hilt in vain for the distinctive scarlet mon that identified it as belonging to a high status Akatobi retainer.

  “It’s the one that Lord Naoki wore to court today. And it bears Kinkiyo’s signature.”