by Ryan Kirk
When he spoke again his voice was softer, but there was a hint of steel Mari hadn’t noticed before. He had been blooded by warfare, and that could never be taken away. “I, too, am sorry for the way you’ve been treated. I was caught in a situation I wasn’t prepared for, and you weren’t helping. As much as we both wish that Juro was alive, he isn’t, and I am now lord of our house. I cannot be questioned by my sister in front of my generals. You left me no choice.”
Mari’s voice was also gentle but firm. “And you left me no choice. I tried to tell you of my concerns in private, but you did not accept my invitations. I felt there was no other way to speak to you.”
Hiromi met her gaze. “Well, then, it appears that we both acknowledge our mistakes. You must understand that I cannot let you back on my council, but I will make a promise to you that should you request my presence, I will always be available.”
Mari had expected as much.
Her brother’s face turned into one of curiosity, and Mari recognized the conversation had shifted. “So now, sister, you must tell me what you’ve been up to and why we are meeting here at a tavern outside my camp instead of inside it.”
Mari almost regretted having to tell Hiromi the truth. They had just repaired their relationship, and she worried that she might destroy it all over again. Regardless, she had no choice. She needed her brother, now more than ever.
She took a deep breath. “I went on a mission to Starfall.”
Hiromi’s eyes, which moments ago had been warm, friendly, and concerned, suddenly turned cold. His expression was all that she had feared, and she rushed to explain before he could stand up and leave the room. “I knew that you would not approve, Brother, which was why I undertook the mission without telling you. I had hoped to offer an alliance to the blades with our house. With their help, you’d be able to win the war quickly and bring peace to the Kingdom once again.”
She watched the war of emotions raging over her brother’s face. She could see that more than anything else, he wanted to stand up and leave, never speaking to her again. But he had just told her that he would always be available to her; if not for his own word given just moments ago, Mari was certain he would already be gone. Eventually, his entire body shuddered as he took a deep, loud breath.
“You are beyond foolish, my sister. I don’t know what could have possibly possessed you to think that such a course of action was reasonable. Have you forgotten so soon that it was the blades who killed our king? That the blades killed our own brother? That they plotted to rule this kingdom? If you weren’t my own sister, I would have you executed for treason immediately. And to think that you did this with any connection to our house. You have brought nothing but disgrace and dishonor to our name.”
Each statement was said quietly, but each with the force of a punch, and each felt exactly that way to Mari. She had expected that Hiromi wouldn’t approve, but she had never anticipated this level of distrust or hate. Suddenly she realized just how wrong she had been about one fact: it was already too late for the blades. The damage had been done. The news and rumors had escalated to a point of no return. Her brother’s feelings weren’t rational. He simply loathed the blades. And if a lord hated the blades, his subjects would, too.
She realized there would be no reasoning with Hiromi. The look on his face said that even more clearly than his words.
Mari was stuck at a crossroads. She didn’t want to lose her brother, but she didn’t want to lose the blades, either.
Hiromi solved her problem for her. “I don’t know what you have planned, Mari, or what you are thinking.” He stood up from the table, his voice just loud enough for her to hear. “But end your foolish games and come home. You’ll be welcome, and despite this madness, I will still consider your advice in the future of our house. But you need to come home now. The moon will be full in, what, twelve days? I can see from your face you are still involved in something. End it however you must. If you are back in Stonekeep by the full moon, all your transgressions will be forgiven. Otherwise, do not plan on coming back at all.”
Her ride back to the blades’ camp was a silent one, Mari completely lost in thought. How could the world be so wrong? Suddenly everyone seemed to be an enemy. If you didn’t agree completely with one’s worldview, you were an other, a traitor to your house, an evil person.
Hiromi’s eyes had changed so quickly. The scene played through her mind repeatedly, and every time she shuddered at the memory. She understood his rage. If she found the blade who slew her brother, she would want to kill him, too.
The four rode into camp without a word. Takahiro, Jun, and Koji had all been inside the tavern guarding Mari when she met with her brother. They hadn’t been close enough to hear the discussion, but they had seen enough to know it hadn’t gone well. They didn’t ask questions, giving her the space to reflect.
As they rode into camp, Takahiro took her horse without a word. Mari walked to the small fire in the center of the camp and sat, lost in thought.
The sun rose in the sky and started to fall, and still Mari made no move. At times her eyes were unfocused, staring into the ground in front of her, then they would focus and watch the blades around her.
Like most civilians, Mari hadn’t spent a great deal of time around the blades. Traveling with the small group gave her new insights into the culture of the people who held such a unique status in the Kingdom.
Of the eleven blades traveling together, four were women. Three were dayblades. Jun was the oldest by far, with most of the rest appearing to be not much older than Mari. She wondered about that, curious if her group was representative of the blades. Or did the younger blades simply have more hope for the Kingdom?
What surprised her most, though, was how comfortable she had become around them. In her previous life, getting full sentences out of a blade was considered an achievement. In camp, surrounded by gifted peers, they weren’t talkative exactly, but they spoke regularly.
Yet their dedication to their training set them apart. Mari knew from her studies that most blades lived to train, but seeing that in action was far different than she expected. If the group needed food, only one or two hunters would leave, the duty rotating among the blades. Once the food was procured, the group ignored hunting until the current supply was gone.
Instead, the nightblades seemed to divide their time between dueling with wooden swords and meditating. Even the dayblades would practice laying hands on one another. Mari had spent a little time among military units, where most energy was expended in trying to get soldiers to focus on the tasks at hand. Here, Mari thought they should rest more often.
On the road they moved differently as well. Most groups would have traveled in a tight pack. Not the blades. They detested being too close to one another too often. They spread out wide, casting a net with their gifts to prevent ambush. Even when they camped, the tents were more spread out from one another than those of average infantrymen.
Despite their oddities, Mari felt comfortable. Her heart no longer raced every time a nightblade spoke to her, and she had laughed around a campfire with them.
Her brother had made her choices clear. Either him or the blades, but it couldn’t be both. She longed to return to Stonekeep, its familiar rock walls and steep walkways. But Mari couldn’t shake the belief that she was meant to remain with the blades. If she accepted her brother’s offer, he might hear her advice, but how often would he act on it? He was just as likely to ignore her guidance in favor of his own thoughts. With the blades, she could act, not just advise.
That night, around a campfire, Mari brought her problem to the group, as she felt they all deserved to know her challenge. She spoke of her conversation with Hiromi and told them about her fears, that the attitude toward the blades had gone too far.
The companions accepted her fears with surprising calmness. Mari had expected them to be distraught or concerned. Instead, she seemed to have simply confirmed something they had all feared. Jun said as much.
“Your concerns are well grounded, my lady. Like you, I wish they were untrue, but I’m afraid the attitude you’ve described is one we’ve seen all too often of late. If you were to spend a day wearing our robes, you, too, would understand. We are used to attention, but never fear, not like this. Even dayblades, who are best at healing, are shunned from villages, where our help could mean the difference between life and death. In the eyes of the people, we are not part of the world they live in.”
Mari fought against the wave of helplessness that washed over her. “Then what can be done? I fear, not just for the blades, but for a Kingdom without the blades. One cannot survive without the other.”
Silence greeted her question. She had hoped that one of them, at least, had an idea worth pursuing.
Eventually Takahiro broke the silence. “I don’t know how to change the attitude of the Kingdom. Such work is well beyond my skill and experience. However, I believe that change happens one person at a time. That’s something we can do. One person, one family, one village at a time. We can make people believe that a different future is possible. We can get people to believe in the blades again.”
Mari looked at her guard, moved by the commitment in his voice. She appreciated his thought, but it wasn’t what she was looking for. “You’re speaking of the work of a lifetime.”
Takahiro nodded, his passion getting the better of him. “Then it is good we have our entire lives still.”
The comment snapped Mari out of her depressed reverie. He was right, of course. His idea wasn’t the solution she wanted, but Takahiro had given them a path, and that was more than she was offering. As she glanced around the circle, she saw that the blades agreed with him. She couldn’t help but smile. To her, Takahiro had been a confidant, a trusted guard, and an excellent swordsman. She had never thought of him as a leader. It was a mistake to underestimate your enemy, but it was also a mistake to underestimate your friends.
“Very well. It’s decided then. We spend this winter serving the Kingdom. We will bring healing, and in places where that’s not enough, we can provide strength. Together, we will spread a new message and work for a new day.”
Blades were not known for cheering, but Mari was content with the satisfaction she saw in their eyes.
Jun cleared his throat. “My lady, there’s something several of us have spoken about, and I believe it needs to be brought to your attention. All of us here know who you are, but if your actions become known, you could bring ruin to your family. Perhaps it would be wise if, from now on, you wore something to conceal your identity?”
Mari was ashamed she had never thought of that herself. If she walked this path and was captured or even if word got out, the revelation would be a convenient pretext for the other two lords to join forces against Hiromi. That was something she couldn’t allow.
“You are right. From this night forward, I shall protect my identity.”
Jun nodded in satisfaction, and the conversation turned to other, less weighty matters. Mari’s attention drifted, her imagination filled with thoughts of Stonekeep. She would miss the place and would miss her brother more. But she was convinced that even if her actions weren’t perfect, she was heading in the right direction. One step at a time, she would forge a better kingdom.
Chapter 13
The winter had been quiet, cold, and brutal. Koji and his compatriots may not have been fighting swarms of enemies, but Lady Mari kept them well occupied. In this harsh season, their real enemies weren’t other men but the elements in the world.
Koji, in particular, felt that he had never worked as hard since he had originally trained as a nightblade cycles ago. Part of the work was his own doing. He was personally training harder than ever. There was much to do.
In the moons since Asa had departed, the number of blades under Mari’s command had increased. Their group, originally about a dozen strong, now were more than fifty, with new people coming almost every day. Rumors of Mari’s deeds were spreading. She had been as good as her word and better. The companions went from village to village, avoiding the large cities, doing what good they could.
As much as they were able, the dayblades did what healing they could without giving themselves away—not an easy task and not one they always succeeded at. More than once they had been run out of villages because their true identities had been discovered.
Every time, though, they left without casualties, and word of the companions’ behavior and actions was spreading.
Just eight days ago they’d come into a village where an elder had been praying for their arrival.
Koji had ventured into the area initially. A lone nightblade always went first. More than once, the mood in a village had proven to be too volatile to risk. Not this time. Koji had entered and asked for the village elder. He had been escorted to the home of a local leader, but when he had come in, the elder was prostrated before his shrine to the Great Cycle.
When Koji told the elder he was with the Lady in White, the man burst into tears, telling him he had just been praying for exactly that. The village had been starving, and the local hunters hadn’t been able to find food in the brutal weather. Koji wasn’t comfortable with the elder’s praise, but they had been welcomed with open arms into the village.
Mari had ridden in later that morning. Her traveling robes were white, as were the silk robes underneath. Though rarely seen, Mari had assumed the outfit as a costume, and few details were overlooked. Her hair was tied with white ribbon, and a matching veil covered her face.
Her choice had been controversial. For most, white symbolized death, but Mari claimed it represented the cleansing power of winter. She had her way, and now, whenever the blades rode into a village, they were led by the Lady in White.
That day had been exhausting, as they all were. No task was too big or too small. Dozens of freshly killed animals were carried in. Dayblades healed what illnesses they could. Jun sat down with the local medicine man and provided supplies and guidance on different mixtures. One or two of the younger blades played with the youth in the village.
Watching Mari was enough to give a person hope. Serving under her was what Koji thought life as a nightblade was supposed to be. For the first time, he felt like the skills he had worked so hard to develop were improving the world.
He wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Since Mari’s movement had begun, not a single blade had left. Everyone who started with her remained, and to Koji’s knowledge, no one entertained any thoughts of departing. If anything, the blades in her service had become more fervent in their desire to serve.
The group’s increased size came with its own share of difficulties. The one that was most obvious, occupying most of their time, was the procurement of food. The winter had been every bit as harsh as the autumn had foretold. The weather never warmed, not even for a few days. The air turned more frigid, the sharp wind tore through whatever clothing they had, and the snow seemed to get deeper every day.
Setting up the tents became more difficult in the snow. Often they stopped whenever they found small groves of trees that provided both shelter and less snow to dig through. They built the fires high as they prepared for sleep, and one of the primary duties of the night’s watch was to ensure the blaze didn’t burn out.
Though many of the nightblades struggled, Mari seemed to thrive. She wore less than most of the blades, yet seemed more comfortable. Many blades seemed to think it a sign of her resilience, but Koji saw only a woman who had grown up in the mountains.
Hunting was not a difficult task for a nightblade. When you knew where your prey was, much of the difficulty was alleviated. As trainees, hunting was one of the first tasks nightblades were expected to master.
Koji had never hunted in weather like this, however. Even if you could sense your prey, getting to it in the deep snow was another issue entirely. He lost track of the number of times he thought he was within range of a deer or rabbit only to lose the animal in the snow. No matter how go
od his condition, he wasn’t as well adapted to the snow as the creatures of the forests and plains. Koji wasn’t alone in this, either. They all struggled to hunt, and more often than not, Mari commanded that what food they had killed be given to the villages and farms they passed. Koji was more lean than he had ever been in his life.
Staying hidden was also more of a challenge the more people they moved with. It was one thing to hide a dozen people, but fifty was another matter entirely, and once they reached a hundred, another matter again. The question constantly arose about what to do with their swelling numbers, whether they should stay together or split up and spread out.
Koji believed they should split up. The advantages of traveling in a smaller group were too strong to ignore. They could move more quickly and evade detection more easily. They could feed themselves with greater ease, and the more they fanned out, the farther their message would carry. Koji had made his arguments known, but the final decision was Mari’s.
He understood the argument about safety in numbers, but he didn’t believe that safety was worth the price they would pay.
Koji did not envy Mari the decision she would have to make. He felt that it was one thing to play the hero when you had a group large enough to do some good but not so large as to pose a threat to the major forces in the world. If this growth continued, Mari would soon command a large and fiercely loyal contingent of blades, one of the largest ever assembled outside of Starfall.
When that happened, they would most certainly draw the attention of the lords, and then Mari’s mettle would truly be tested. Would she fight? Would they run and hide? Would the flame of their beliefs, which had once burned so bright, fade out until even the wisps of smoke had disappeared? Koji didn’t know the answer, but he was grateful that one was not required of him. He was more than content to serve as he was able.
Despite his comfort, Koji recognized that it was only a matter of time before decisions needed to be made. The time of reckoning was coming soon.