THe Grave at Storm's End

by Devin Madson

  ‘Pull back!’

  Katashi was close to his goal now. Up the last stairs and through the doors, killing all who stood in his path and that would be the end. The end of the war. And the end of him.

  Katashi’s dying, Darius had said. I hope you don’t mind.

  ‘We have to let him take the throne,’ I shouted at Ryoji as we reached the third landing. ‘We have to surrender.’

  ‘Surrender? Are you insane?’

  ‘No, trying to fight him is insane. Too many people have died, Hade. It’s time to do it my way.’

  There was a proud, mulish set to his jaw. Here a man who would not back down, would not give up in the heat of battle, and in that moment I hated him for it. ‘General Hade Ryoji,’ I said. ‘I order you and your remaining men to surrender.’

  ‘Hana—’

  ‘I am your empress and I am giving you an order.’

  A scowl. Then a nod and a bow. I did not wait, only heard his orders break behind me as I darted up the last stairs two at a time. The fourth round was empty, but beyond the first pair of doors the antechamber was full of wounded men. Apprentice Yoj was performing quick, brutal triage, on his own here without his master.

  No sounds of battle followed. Here were just the moans and cries of the injured and the dying.

  ‘My lady, is it over?’ a wounded soldier asked as I strode through the antechamber.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But it will be soon. Katashi and his men are coming. Don’t try to fight them. Just let them come.’

  ‘But… my lady?’

  ‘Let them come. I will deal with them alone.’

  Panic erupted but I could not stay. Ahead the double doors to the throne room called to me, tall and heavy, their engraving so detailed a full day would not suffice to examine them. Two patches at shoulder height shone with wear and I set my palms to them and pushed. They opened slowly, crimson light pouring through the gap. The throne room was empty. Still. Streams of dust hung in the shafts of light.

  I crossed the floor, the weight of history upon my shoulders. At the end of the hall the Crimson Throne filled my future. Here no copy made merely for ceremony; this was the first, the original, gifted by the gods. It had belonged to my ancestors and now it belonged to me.

  As I climbed the dais the first sounds interrupted the peace. Men shouting. Heavy footsteps. Screaming. Katashi was coming. Letting him take the throne might kill him, but—

  ‘Hana!’

  He was not singing now.

  Sword at my feet, I lowered myself onto the throne that had seen many emperors come and go, but I was its first empress.

  ‘Hana!’

  Katashi stood in the doorway, heat wavering around him. Pikes fanned out as he entered, dragging Imperial Guards with them. They were bloody and disarmed, injured and singed. Ryoji was amongst them, blood running down his face from an ugly wound on his forehead. He hit the floor, dazed, holding close the arm he had injured in Shimai.

  ‘It’s over,’ he said, slowly advancing.

  He reached the Humble Stone. ‘Kneel,’ I said.

  Katashi stopped and looked down. ‘Kneel?’

  ‘I am the Empress of Kisia and you will bow before me.’

  His smile turned ugly. Dark, charcoal patches marred his skin like ugly scabs. ‘You are no empress,’ he said, stepping off the stone. ‘You’re still wearing that white sash. You have taken no oath. You are more mine in flesh than his.’

  ‘The gods do not judge by flesh. Kneel.’

  ‘You are sitting on my throne.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I am the last surviving heir of Emperor Lan Otako. This is my throne.’

  He snarled, flames licking up his skin. For a moment he seemed to glow from the inside, red hot like the interior of a bake oven. There was a wildness to him, a desperation, and I wondered then if he knew.

  ‘Give it to me,’ he said slowly. ‘Or I will remove you by force.’

  Swinging out my leg, I kicked my sword to the edge of the dais where it lay out of reach. ‘That could turn farcical. I could hold onto the arms. I have quite a strong grip. Better you just kill me.’

  ‘If you try my patience much further I will grant your wish,’ he said. ‘This is what I’ve fought all my life for, Hana, don’t get in my way.’

  ‘So you would murder another Otako to take the throne? How does that make you better than Kin?’

  One more step brought him to the edge of the dais and he put his sword down beside mine. Shouts came through open door, but I dared not look at our audience, dared not break eye contact with the great cousin I had once loved so completely.

  Muscles bulged beneath blood-red skin as he hoisted himself onto the dais. He would have towered over me, but with one hand upon each arm of the throne, he bent his face to mine. It was like standing too close to a brazier, even the smell like hot ash and embers. Up close his smile was a grimace.

  ‘Hana, my foolish little cousin. Get up.’

  ‘No.’

  Katashi lifted his hand to my cheek. The heat of his bare skin seared but I refused to pull away.

  ‘This is your last chance,’ he said. ‘I have come too far to let this be the end. Give me my throne.’

  ‘No.’

  The flare of angry flame did not come. Katashi’s skin roiled like an angry sea, each black patch an island of death upon his flesh. He gripped my chin. ‘Hana,’ he growled. ‘I will kill you unless you move.’

  ‘Then you will kill me.’

  Again no angry flare. ‘Hana!’

  I ran my hand down his cheek, the prickle of singed growth seeming out of place on skin that glowed like hot coals.

  ‘You’re in pain,’ I said. ‘You’re dying.’

  ‘For the gods’ sake, Hana, allow me my vengeance!’

  The voice was changing. Behind him his victorious Pikes were growing restless. One of them called out to his captain, but Katashi did not turn.

  ‘Sometimes the best revenge is the quietest one,’ I said, unable to hold back tears. ‘An Otako of your blood will sit on this throne again.’

  He let go of my chin. Licked dry lips. ‘My blood?’

  ‘Yes. How is that for vengeance?’

  His bright blue eyes burned trails down my chest to dwell upon my belly. ‘My heir?’

  ‘Damn you, Katashi,’ I said softly, pressing my other hand to his burning skin. ‘We could have done this together.’

  ‘That goes both ways, little love.’ His blood-shot eyes glistened, but there were no tears.

  Shouts penetrated our bubble of suspended time and I let him go. ‘You’re running out of time,’ I said. ‘If you want the throne, take it.’

  The Pikes were panicking now, their noise rising to a furore. From outside came sounds of battle.

  ‘Captain!’

  Katashi seemed not to hear them. Lines were appearing like fissures in his flesh. Stiff jointed, he dropped to his knees, sinking his head into my lap. I touched his tangled hair. Every strand was singed. ‘It is almost over, my Monarch,’ I said, no tears left to shed.

  Manshin’s soldiers came and the Pikes fought, each man dancing his last steps as death tip-toed through the vaulted hall, his bony feet snapping like the finest sandals. It all seemed so far away.

  ‘It is… it… it is… all daa…arr…’ Katashi struggled to speak, forcing out sounds as though his mouth was the wrong shape.

  ‘Shh.’ I stroked his hair. ‘Go to your father.’

  When the last Pike fell there was silence. And there amid the ever-growing crowd of soldiers stood General Manshin. He did not speak nor approach, just stared at us like everyone else, not daring to break the spell.

  My legs ached beneath the weight of Katashi’s head. He was breathing slowly now, little streams of smoke escaping with each exhale. Smoke that stank of burning fles
h.

  ‘Goodnight, cousin,’ I said. ‘May you find peace.’

  I took his hand and pressed it to my stomach. His body was stiffening and his skin flaked beneath my fingers, turning to ash. The charcoal patches on his skin hardened, spread, while every shallow breath was little more than a sigh through black lips. And then the fire was gone with his life, and he lay like a beautiful coal statue, his eyes closed and his lips faintly smiling.

  Chapter 37

  Kimiko screamed. And when she ran out of breath she screamed again, unable to escape the man impaled on her outstretched arm. Piss pooled around Darius’s feet.

  ‘No!’ Hope grabbed Malice around the waist as he threw himself toward Darius.

  Kimiko’s screams became words as she cupped Darius’s cheek with her free hand. Blood stained his lips bright red. ‘No. No. No! Ask me again,’ she pleaded. ‘Darius. Please! No!’

  Blood dripped into the piss at his feet. I couldn’t move, every part of me numb as though I were no more alive than the wall, just another inanimate witness to the brief passing of men.

  Malice thrashed in Hope’s grip, howling like a wounded beast. The sword Kimiko had thrust through his shoulder was still stuck there, ripping flesh as he fought his last Vice.

  ‘Endymion, help!’ Hope shouted. ‘Get this damn sword out of him.’

  I forced my feet to move.

  There were no words in Malice’s scream, just spittle and lank hair falling into eyes raw with tears. With more speed than finesse I gripped the sword hilt and yanked the blade free. Blood soaked Malice’s shoulder, but he went on screaming like a man demented.

  Tears streamed down Kimiko’s face. ‘I will. I will marry you, Darius,’ she said. ‘We can go anywhere, everywhere, see the world with our little Saki. It’s going to be all right.’

  Pale, shaking, broken, Darius barely seemed to be there at all. Rattling breaths shook his fragile frame and with every convulsive swallow he gagged and spluttered.

  Kimiko’s intrusion had caused the wound, but was also plugging it, prolonging his pain.

  ‘Let him go,’ I said. ‘Kimiko, please.’

  ‘No. No!’

  Darius’s knees buckled and she fell with him, her hand shifting inside his body. Blood spurted, splattering her face and the floor and soaking up her sleeve. Kimiko howled.

  ‘Give her sadness,’ Hope said. ‘Make her let go.’

  Sadness. It seemed so meagre an emotion, suddenly pathetic.

  Malice sank to the floor, but Hope did not let him go, just rested his pale face against his master’s silk-clad back. The Vice Master convulsed with sobs, each growing weaker as blood drained from his wound. Perhaps it was a kindness to let him bleed out. It was either that or live without Darius, not only without him, but with no chance of ever getting him back. Never again would Darius give me that deadpan stare, never again would he mock or laugh or smooth the imagined creases of his robe, eyeing me over an Errant board. His game was over.

  I touched Kimiko’s cheek. All at once my hand was hot, enveloped in blood and still pulsing organs. There was joy in the feel of living tissue, and a terrible, pathetic hope not yet extinguished.

  Kimiko faded. Her hand slipped from Darius’s gut and she fell back, wailing, leaving behind a bloody, tangled mess framed in expensive silk. Darius lay upon the matting, still and beautiful and staring at nothing.

  Malice rose with a roar and lunged at Kimiko. ‘You stinking whore!’ he screamed, slamming his foot into her chest. ‘He’s mine. Mine!’

  He kicked her again and again before Hope was on him, pushing him away. ‘Darius is dead!’ Hope shouted. ‘It’s over!’ But Malice lunged at Kimiko again and once more Hope thrust him back. Malice’s face was pale and he staggered, clutching his shoulder as though finally realising the wound was there. His hand came away bright red and his legs collapsed beneath him.

  ‘Damn you,’ Hope hissed, catching him awkwardly.

  He set the man down but did not stay. Decisive steps took him to the door. ‘He needs a physician,’ he said, looking back at me. ‘I’ll go find out which emperor I need to ask for help.’

  He was gone before I could beg him to stay, leaving me alone in a room full of the dead and the dying. A pitiful moan came from the filthy mound that was Malice, but he did not move again. The two guards had been all but forgotten, their names unknown, their fate bringing no sorrow. I wanted to mourn them, but when my eyes turned to Avarice I knew there would be no space left in my heart. The original Vice lay face up where he had fallen, blood tears streaking his cheek. Kokoro and Darius were less tidy, their organs spilled and their blood soaking into the matting.

  At my feet Kimiko had curled into a ball. I crouched, lips too dumb to form words.

  ‘Wake me up,’ she whispered. ‘Please, wake me up.’

  ‘I can’t.’ The stink of blood filled my nose, blood and vomit and urine shoved so far up there I doubted I would ever get them out.

  Her wail rose from a groan and she gripped handfuls of curls, tearing them out. ‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘No! Oh gods, Endymion, kill me.’ She dug nails into my arm. ‘Please!’

  Her face was blotchy, and tears streaked from red raw eyes. It would have been so easy. There were abandoned blades in abundance and no one to stop me, but I did not reach for one. ‘I can’t,’ I said, looking at my hands. ‘I can’t. I loved him too much.’

  She rocked back and forth, hands on her stomach. I wanted to tell her that focussing on life would get her past death, that there was always something worth living for, that she was young, strong, and healthy, but all the words that spilled from Jian’s consciousness were as pathetic as the sadness had been, useless to a situation that was beyond words.

  ‘Just one more,’ she pleaded. ‘One more! You’ve killed hundreds, what is one more who is begging for your help.’

  She was right. I had killed hundreds without so much as a blink, what was one more? But the day I died the gods would weigh my heart upon the scales and find it heavy if I did not atone.

  The idea was sudden. Blinding. I knew not whether it was my own or Jian’s, but there was no time to think lest fear steal my resolve.

  ‘Kimiko.’

  She looked up and I took her face in my hands. Kimiko did not flinch, did not pull away though she must have known my purpose, must have felt her own thoughts shifting. The heat of his guts, life draining from that porcelain face, light from his eyes, those lips I had kissed, that skin I had touched, those eyes I had looked into and seen a soul capable of carrying my weight.

  It was slow, every memory a struggle to extract now, allowing time to hunt for Darius, to find the traces he had left on a heart long battered. Touching me, holding me, laughing as I moved an Errant piece across the board pinched between two toes. Katashi was there too, and Malice, their memories interlinked by pain.

  Kimiko closed her eyes, her breathing taking on the even rhythm of one asleep as I pulled the last of Darius from her mind. Tears dripped from my chin. They were flowing freely as again and again I felt my hand solidify in his body, felt his pulse quicken and his body tense. My lips parted in a silent scream at the enormity of what I had done.

  Footsteps heralded Hope’s return. At sight of him I tried to speak, but all that emerged was a cry more creak than scream as though my throat was too narrow. He knelt before me. ‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to catch my fluttering hands. ‘What happened?’

  More figures darkened the doorway.

  ‘I don’t think you should see this, my lady.’

  ‘And I think we’ve had this conversation before, General.’

  Figures moved about us but I had no eyes for them, no thoughts but for the grief that had no voice.

  ‘Malice is still alive.’ That was Hana, something in her tone catching my attention. ‘Take him to the antechamber and get Apprentice Yoj to look at him.�
�

  ‘Yes, my lady.’

  Men moved behind Hope. Their steps were heavy on the matting as they worked to lift the unconscious Empath from his pool of blood. He looked dead already and I envied him the chance of freedom. All the pain in the room was nothing to the agony of unspoken words welling inside me. Of unlived moments and fractured memories.

  Hope gripped my hands, but there was no leap of his mind to mine, no instant connection, just a subtle warmth like sunshine upon my skin. ‘Endymion, talk to me.’

  Nothing would come.

  ‘Oh gods…’

  Horror trembled in Hana’s voice. She stood over Darius’s body, a hand caught to her mouth. General Ryoji was at her side, protective despite the turmoil his soul threw into the air. I didn’t want to look at Darius, but his abdomen drew my gaze as it drew the gaze of every soldier Hana had brought with her. They all stared at the bloody hole. One turned away, his vomit barely adding to the stench of the room.

  Hope squeezed one of my hands. ‘Endymion—’

  ‘We need to move them,’ Hana said, turning her gaze around the room, brushing briefly over me to Kimiko, Kokoro and Avarice. ‘We can’t leave them here. General, do something.’

  ‘Yes, my lady.’ He nodded to two of his men, both faces drained of colour. ‘Carry Lord Laroth to his room. His body needs to be washed.’

  ‘No!’ I cried. ‘Don’t touch him!’ I tried to pull away from Hope but he tightened his hold. ‘Leave him alone! Oh my Darius, what have I done?’

  Hope wrapped his arms around me. ‘You took her memories,’ he said, his voice close to my ear. ‘Why?’

  I could not explain, not here, not now, not when all I needed was to purge the grief in scream after scream, tears obscuring everything but the memories that played inside my head. Darius had knelt at my feet. Had smiled, for the first time open, real, alive, free.

  Hope’s hair tickled my neck. ‘I think he’s taken Lady Kimiko’s pain,’ he said. ‘She might not remember Lord Laroth at all.’