Emperor of the Fireflies

by Sarah Ash

  Without another word, Ebb took Masao’s right hand and placed something in his palm, closing his fingers around it. Then he let go, turning to walk back into the wisps of sea mist that had begun to rise off the distant water until his mortal form seemed to melt into the darkness.

  Masao opened his fingers, to see what Ebb had placed in his hand. A single white pearl lay there, dully gleaming in the fitful moonlight.

  Thank you; it’s beautiful.

  Shivering in the chill of the autumn night, Masao realized that he was naked and alone on the muddy estuary shore, with no means of making his way back to Kinkiyo’s forge except on foot. And now that Ebb’s protection was fast seeping out of his body, all the basic human needs that he had learned to do without, began to assert themselves.

  So hungry. . .so very thirsty. . . His empty stomach contracted; his mouth and throat felt parched as if the long immersion in brine had dried out all the moisture in his system.

  Must tell Kai. . . But how?

  He began to make his way, one painful step at a time, up over the shingle. He was shivering by the time he reached the first trees, peering through the darkness for any hint of habitation.

  Clouds covered the moon, plunging the river bank into darkness.

  There must be a village. . .let there be a village. . . Although what villager would risk taking in a naked stranger in the middle of the night?

  The soles of his feet were grazed by the sharp shingle so that each step he took was a torture.

  I can’t give up now. Not after I’ve endured so much. And I have to get back to Yūgiri.

  His toe suddenly caught – agonizingly – on a fallen branch. Flailing, thrown off-balance, Masao crashed to the ground, belatedly flinging out one hand to break his fall.

  Too slow. . .

  As his head struck the branch, darkness blacker than the moon-clouded night, swallowed him whole.

  Chapter 50

  “This is. . .unexpected,” Lord Korechika said, holding the sacred sword up to the soft light of one of the shrine lanterns.

  “What do you mean?” Sakami ventured closer to look.

  “This thread of black, running from tip to hilt.” The dark Celestial Fox ran one finger above the blade, tracing its full length.

  “Is the sword damaged?” She looked up at him, desperate for reassurance that the precious weapon was unscathed. All their hopes lay within this slender, deadly blade.

  “I could call out the sword’s spirit and ask,” he said, his amber eyes glinting in the lantern light. “But first, why don’t you tell me what happened.”

  “Kurika attacked the forge. And Lord Masao – Ebb – fought him off.”

  Lord Korechika eyes glinted more brightly. “And did he get a hit? Did he strike home?”

  Sakami hesitated. “I wasn’t close enough to see clearly. But Kurika retreated. I’ve only seen that happen once before – and that was when Flood defended us.”

  Another glinting glance pierced her. “You seem to be on very good terms with the Lords of the Sea for an insignificant little kitsune.”

  “So what is that black mark?” Sakami was determined not to be distracted from her main concern.

  “My guess is that your Lord Masao scored a hit. And Foxfire-Fang absorbed some of Kurika’s power.”

  “Does that mean the blade has lost its sacred magic?” Tears pricked at her eyes; the possibility that all their hard work had been undone – and Kurika had escaped with just a scratch was almost too hard to bear.

  “I really couldn’t say for sure.” The Celestial Fox absentmindedly scratched one of his black-furred ears. “Although –”

  The sound of shouting from the street outside suddenly penetrated the dark wooden cocoon of the inner shrine.

  “Make way! Make way for the imperial guards!”

  Sakami whirled around, gazing toward the entrance. “Has the emperor sent his men to look for the sword?” She held her breath as the regular tramp of marching feet became audible.

  Lord Korechika placed the sword on the offerings table in front of Inari’s statue and drew himself up to his full, imposing height. Sparks crackled from his shadowy tails as they unfurled.

  “No one can force their way in here,” he said with quiet menace, “without having to face Chinatsu and me first.”

  As Sakami listened, the fast, purposeful tread of the emperor’s guards continued past the shrine, not slowing for one instant, growing fainter.

  “All clear,” called a soft, elegant voice and Lady Chinatsu appeared in the doorway, wreathed in a soft white glow.

  Sakami let out the breath she had been holding. “But where are the guards going?”

  “They went out by the Southern Gate. I’m afraid, my dear, they seem to be on their way to the smithy where the sword was reforged.”

  “Honou – it’s just as Lord Masao warned us. We have to –” She felt Lord Korechika’s hand pressing on her shoulder, holding her back.

  “You must stay here,” Lady Chinatsu said. “Your duty is to help us protect Foxfire-Fang. Let the humans sort themselves out.”

  “But Beniko. Little Ren. Yūgiri.” Fear for those who had helped and protected her overwhelmed her and she sank to her knees. “Why am I so useless?”

  “You have to save your strength, Sakami. It’s a long way back to your mountain and you’re fading fast.”

  “Or you could start your journey now,” said Lord Korechika. “If the emperor’s guards are busy searching the smithy, they won’t be checking the gates.”

  “Now?” Sakami wiped her eyes on her sleeve and glanced at Honou who had remained unusually silent. “Shall we make a run for it?”

  ***

  “I couldn’t save your retainer’s left eye; the damage was too great.”

  Yūgiri’s first instinct on hearing the unfamiliar voice was to open his eyes to see if he could identify the speaker. An agonizing stab of resistance on the left side of his face sent dazzling flashes of light searing through his brain.

  “I’ve removed the remaining debris and cleaned the wound.” It must be a surgeon speaking; Yūgiri had a shadowy recollection of enduring probing and swabbing until he had passed out. “It will need to be regularly bathed with this infusion to keep it clean. I’ll leave a tincture to dull the pain: five drops to be taken in barley tea or boiled water. And to aid healing, I suggest that he wears a patch to protect the socket. Please don’t hesitate to call me back, my lord, if his condition deteriorates.”

  Yūgiri struggled to raise his head and felt another vicious stab of pain pierce the side of his face, leaving an angry afterglow.

  How long have I been unconscious? Did Masao get away?

  Glimpsing shadowy figures through a red-tinted mist, he struggled to push himself up.

  “Be careful, Hisui-sensei. Drink this.” Beniko bent over him, holding a bowl to his lips. He drank obediently, grimacing at the bitter taste of the tincture, barely disguised by the flavor of cold barley tea. And a calming sensation began to calm his jangled nerves, blunting the fiercest edge of the pain so that his ragged breathing gradually eased.

  “What’s happened?” he asked. “Where’s Masao?”

  “Safe – for now. He’s gone back to the sea.” Naoki knelt beside him, leaning close. “What in the name of all the gods were you trying to do?” Yūgiri heard a catch in his voice. “If the blade had gone much deeper, it would have pierced your brain. Has your life become so meaningless, that you’d throw it away so carelessly?”

  “I did what had to be done,” Yūgiri said quietly. “And you know very well why, my lord.”

  “You broke Hotaru’s curse-spell?”

  For the first time in a long while, Yūgiri realized that he could no longer sense the intrusive presence of the emperor’s malevolent onmyōdo penetrating deep into his most intimate and private thoughts. But the relief of being alone in his own mind was tempered by the ever-present pain of the self-inflicted damage.

  “So it seems. . .”
>
  “But you can’t stay here.” Yūgiri felt his lord’s hand on his shoulder; a light, reassuring pressure. “We don’t know if the attack last night was directed at Kinkiyo – or at Lord Masao. How much damage was done to the forge?”

  “I’ve sent the lads up there now, to make good,” said the smith. “The roof went up in smoke but we’ve slung sacking over the remaining timbers to keep the rain out.”

  “Show me.”

  As the men’s voices receded, Yūgiri lay back, longing for darkness; even inside the house the daylight was too intrusively bright.

  Masao escaped. . .but not before Hotaru saw him. How long will it be before Hotaru’s men arrive?

  ***

  A woman’s scream, raw and terrified, sent Naoki running out of the forge, Kinkiyo close on his heels.

  What Naoki saw made him blink in disbelief: a detachment of the imperial guard had surrounded the smith’s little house and from the open doorway he could hear Beniko desperately pleading with them.

  “Beniko!” Kinkiyo took the lead, pounding down the worn path to confront the intruders. “What’s going on? Let my daughter go.”

  As Naoki caught up he saw the officer in charge turn around in the doorway to stare at the smith.

  “Are you Kinkiyo? I have a warrant from the emperor to search your property and impound any weapons you’ve forged here.”

  Naoki recognized the mellifluous voice of General Nakakuni, the elegant favorite of many court ladies. Another one of Hotaru’s protégés.

  “Good day, General,” he called out. “What’s the problem? Is my master armorer accused of committing some felony?”

  Nakakuni turned and, seeing him, bowed. “Lord Naoki.” And then he hesitated, as though embarrassed. “I have orders to bring in some members of your household for questioning. There’s been an allegation of treason.”

  “Treason?” Beniko repeated, shaking her head. Kinkiyo put his arms protectively around her, while Ren clung to her skirts, peeping out at the guards with wide eyes.

  “There must be some mistake.” Naoki walked right up to Nakakuni. “We’re busy preparing for the demonstration of the iron dragons that the emperor himself commissioned. Everyone has been working hard to ensure it’s a success.”

  Nakakuni’s eyes hardened. “I am well aware of that fact, my lord. But the emperor’s orders are quite specific.” He turned to his second-in-command, saying, “Go and search the forge. Bring any weapons you find there to me.”

  The search did not take long; the guards came back, the first bearing three katana and several following, staggering under the weight of the iron dragons.

  “We’re impounding these too,” Nakakuni said, pointing to the iron dragons.

  “I was told the display had to be postponed, not cancelled.” Naoki was bewildered by this abrupt change of plan. “Has all our work been for nothing?”

  Nakakuni shrugged. “It seems the emperor doesn’t place enough trust in you and your clan to carry out such an important demonstration. So he’s charged us with the task instead.”

  “But there’s no one in the imperial guards who knows how to use these safely –” began Kinkiyo.

  “Are you questioning the emperor’s judgment?” Nakakuni demanded.

  Kinkiyo shook his head; his face had gone red.

  “A man in your situation – under suspicion of plotting to dethrone the emperor – would do well not to incriminate himself further.”

  “Plotting?” Kinkiyo let out a bark of derisive laughter. “Me? Where’s the evidence?”

  “Do you think I’d divulge my sources to you?”

  “There’s obviously been a misunderstanding.” Naoki stepped between the two men, fearing that Kinkiyo might lose his temper and lash out. Striking a court official was a capital offense. “My clan is loyal to the emperor.”

  “We know that you recently forged a new sword, Kinkiyo.” Nakakuni ignored Naoki, Where is it? Tell me the truth – or you’ll never see your daughter and grandson again.”

  “That sword? It’s no longer here. It’s a sacred weapon and was taken back to its shrine.”

  Nakakuni let out a little grunt of frustration. “Which shrine?”

  Kinkiyo gave a shrug of his broad shoulders. “A priestess came for it with her servant. They took it away with them.”

  “You must have more details than that!”

  “As long as I’m paid, I don’t ask questions. And they paid me generously.”

  “Someone else here must know where they came from.” Nakakuni was irritatedly tapping his folded fan of office against his palm. “Your daughter.” He suddenly pointed the tip of the fan at Beniko like a drawn blade and Naoki saw her flinch.

  “This woman knows nothing.” The quiet voice startled Nakakuni who took a step back, peering into the doorway to see who had spoken. Yūgiri appeared behind Beniko, clutching at the doorpost. With his ashen face, white hair and blood-stained dressings, he looked more like a vengeful spirit than a living man and Nakakuni recoiled at the unsettling sight.

  “Hisui-sensei?” Beniko caught hold of him as he stumbled. “You should be resting; the surgeon said you mustn’t exert yourself.”

  “Yūgiri –” Naoki started forward but Nakakuni extended one arm to bar his way.

  “Are you Yūgiri Hisui? I have orders to bring you in for questioning.”

  The ghost of a smile appeared fleetingly on Yūgiri’s pale lips as if he had been anticipating just such an outcome.

  “My healer too? Can’t you see he’s badly injured? He’s in no fit state to be interrogated.” Naoki was close to losing his temper; he could sense little pulses of heat tingling in his fingertips. The Flame Feathers jutsu. But I daren’t use it against the emperor’s representative.

  “I’m sure it’s only a formality,” Nakakuni said dismissively, “and they’ll be released soon enough. . .”

  “A formality?”

  “If you’re so concerned about your clansmen, then I suggest you accompany us too, my lord,” Nakakuni said, turning to signal to his men.

  “Very well.” Naoki turned to Raiko who was staring at him, open-mouthed. “Raiko; if I don’t return by sunset, ride straight to my father and tell him what’s happened.”

  “Please don’t go, my lord.” Raiko, usually so braggingly confident, looked genuinely unnerved by the sudden reverse in their fortunes.

  “Our clan’s good name has been sullied. I’m going to set matters right.”

  But as he saw the guardsmen manhandling Kinkiyo and Yūgiri, dragging them up the bank to an enclosed ox-cart used for transporting convicted criminals, he had the sinking feeling that he might be walking into a trap.

  Chapter 51

  Dragged down by the undertow, Masao struggles to kick upward through the cloudy water, straining toward the distant glimmer of daylight far above. But the pull of the current is too strong and he finds himself slowly sucked back down into the murky, lightless depths. No matter how hard he strains to force his leaden limbs to propel him toward the surface, the air is forced out of his lungs, he’s drowning –

  “Hey, mister. Wake up.”

  “P’raps he’s dead.”

  “Or dead-drunk.”

  Something sharp prodded Masao in the ribs. He opened his eyes to see – through a thin drizzle – two curious faces looming over his.

  Children.

  The sharp prod came again. With a shinobi’s fine-tuned instincts, Masao reached out and grabbed, catching hold of an alder twig which the taller boy was holding.

  “Stop that.” His voice came out more menacingly than he’d intended. The smaller child shrieked and leapt back. The other glared at him, calling out, “Dad. Da-ad! There’s a man here with no clothes on.”

  Masao sat up. He looked down and saw that his body was smeared with mud and covered in grazes and bruises.

  “Move away, Taro, Kyo.” A man appeared, carrying a bundle of firewood on his back. “And you,” he said, on seeing Masao. “You’d better
not have harmed my boys.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Masao said thickly. His head was pounding so badly that each word was an effort. “I – need help.”

  “That’s a nasty blow you’ve taken there,” the man said.

  Masao tried to reply – but the sickening pain in his head was making it hard to stay upright. To his shame, he felt himself sliding helplessly back on to the muddy ground.

  “Come on, boys.” He heard the wood-gatherer calling to the children.

  “D-don’t leave me.” He was ashamed to hear how pathetic he sounded. “I. . .can make it, . .worth your while.”

  ***

  The pop and crackle of a wood fire brought Masao back to his senses. At first all he could see was its flickering glow and a smoky haze, almost obscuring a roof of bamboo above.

  Then he noticed the salty tang of soup wafting tantalizingly through the air and his empty stomach contracted painfully, letting out a growl.

  He tried to push himself up on one elbow and became aware that two pairs of dark eyes were staring at him. The two small boys who had found him out on the bank were crouched at his bedside, peering curiously at him through the smoke.

  “He’s woken up!”

  “And his tummy’s rumbling!” the other said, giggling.

  Masao hastily checked himself. He was no longer naked; his rescuers must have cleaned him, wiping away the mud and blood, and clothed him in a fundoshi and jacket of rough-woven cloth. He raised one hand to check his aching head and felt a bandage where he had gashed it.

  “So you’re awake.” The boys’ father appeared and crouched down beside him, holding out a bowl of soup. “Here; drink this.”

  “Thank you.” Masao gratefully gulped down the soup, the heat spreading throughout his body and thawing his numbed mind as well as his chilled body. So good. The last time he had drunk soup – or tasted any food at all – had been the first morning he staggered ashore after the Sacrifice seal had claimed him. Weeks and weeks ago.