The two others focused their attention on Drosa. Both men, one clung to his walking stick as if it were a third leg, while the other had an air of youth and the swagger of a guardsman. Both wore vests adorned with spikes of shiny metal, and the old man’s neck hung with so many pendants that Ishe wondered if they had contributed to the hunch in his back.
The old man turned his eyes from Drosa to Ishe. Nested deeply in his wrinkled face as they were, Ishe could only make out the barest shine of them in the dim light. “You,” he said, old voice creaking. “You are the one the Winds howled of? The bird that must be freed?”
Ishe’s brow furrowed for a moment. The wind? Then she remembered the pained faces in the swirling snow when Yaz’noth had used that huge wind crystal to clear the clouds that hung over the valley. “Yes,” Ishe nodded.
The old man scowled, “We are not people of the wind. It cares not of Two Herds. You trap us between blade”—he glanced at Hawk—“and fire.”
“Uh, sorry?” Ishe offered. “I have to get to my sister.”
“You have brought Yaz’noth down from the mountain. If you escape, my people will be forced to scatter until his rage subsides. We expect a blood’s price on your return.”
“That will not be a debt that will be paid; we are not coming back,” Hawk interjected.
“Ha!” the old man barked in a laugh. “You are so sure of your path, One Who Shatters Iron?”
“Sparrow,” Hawk hissed with surprising venom. “What did you tell them?”
The thin man coughed into his fist. “Nothing untrue, my love.” He might have wiggled his ears.
Hawk clenched her fists so hard that her knuckles cracked, each one like a small cannon going off next to Ishe’s ear. “Do not try to yoke me to your prophecies, shaman. I will defy it and leave the All shattered in my wake if I have to.”
The young man took a step in front of his elder and raised his spear in the face of the rage that radiated out of Hawk. Ishe had never seen Hawk this angry before; her massive body quaked like a volcano about to explode. The shaman pushed the younger man aside and stood before Hawk, daring her to strike him. “Our paths are set, be you mountain or monster.”
“Not mine. I killed my path and fed it the one who spun it.”
Stag drew himself up. “Our valley is the hidden place. Our ancestors sealed themselves here as the world beyond went mad. There are two ways out of this valley. One is to climb over the mountains, and the other is to leave by the river as it flows through the Maw. Which one do you choose?”
“Which one does your prophesied one not choose?” Hawk growled; she gave her husband a look that should have set his mustache on fire.
“She takes the river, just as we’re going to do.” Sparrow interposed himself between Hawk and the young man with an easy smile. “Because trying to cross over the mountains when a dragon is looking for you is suicide.”
“So is rafting down a river filled with Grief!” Hawk huffed. The anger seemed to evaporate.
“Not if you’re the one doing it.” Sparrow grinned.
“Words. Husband, we will have words about this soon,” Hawk grumbled.
“I will make tea,” Sparrow said.
Instead of arguing further, Hawk pulled Sparrow to her side and faced the warrior. “And what of you, Stag’s Run?”
“It will be my honor to be your guide, Swooping Hawk.” He imitated a Golden Hills bow. “Drosa and I will take you to the Maw and open it for you.”
“Me?” Drosa practically squeaked. Then she shot something that sounded bitter back at him in their own language. An argument erupted.
Stag’s Run rushed forward and the two stood nearly nose to nose, their voices like low growls of two cats squaring off. With a shake of his head, the old man dived into the argument.
Gull and Catter edged around the group to join Ishe behind Hawk. “Do ya know what they’re saying?” Gull asked in a low whisper.
Ishe shook her head. Drosa jabbed a long finger at Stag’s sternum, the old shaman had hands on both their shoulders. The sounds of their voices were similar to arguments between members of Low River on Fox Fire but out of order, so Ishe could not discern any meaning from the torrent of sounds.
Slowly, the elder’s words drew Drosa’s attention, and she glared at the elder through narrowed eyes. Her face grew tighter and tighter until she wrenched herself away and threw her hands into the air with an exclamation that made both Stag and the elder flinch back. She cast one more stream of angry words at the pair before stomping over to one of the packs that lay on the ground and swinging it up onto her onto her back.
“I shall come,” Drosa said in Golden Hills, grinding each word.
With a sigh, the old man turned to the rest of the party. “Circle around our camp and continue east until you reach the river. I will convince the rest of the tribe you’re heading for the mountains.” He looked to Sparrow. “That is all I can do for you.”
Sparrow extended a hand and the two clasped hands for a moment. “It is enough. Thank you.”
Chapter Six
For much of Golden Hills’ existence, the sun gazed down on an ordered clockwork, but chaos erupted after he disappeared behind the mountains. That changed with the arrival of Lady Night.
Hon Nishamura, chief historian of the Steward’s archives
Yaki lit a candle in the small shrine she had set up. An ink drawing of Grandmother Willow was pinned to the back of it under the window of the rented room. The drawing had been made with a twig from the tree that had been fashioned into a makeshift quill. The flame swelled and fragmented into many branches for the briefest of moments. “Thank you,” Yaki muttered to it as a rough prickle danced up her forearms. Reaching up to her neck, she untied the leather thong that held the stinking charm of Passing Night to her neck. No perfume could cover its stinking rot completely, and Yaki’s throat ached from swallowing back the bile that constantly intruded. She placed the charm inside a glass jar and sealed the lid.
“Hrmph, finally!” Guro grunted behind her. “Couldn’t you have done that last night?” He stepped forward with a large paper fan and with two hands pumped it in an attempt to repel all the apartment’s air out of the window.
Cupping her hand around the flame to protect it from Guro’s small storm, Yaki growled back, “You cannot rush asking a hearth and a nature spirit to work together.” Three nights of cohabitation had done nothing to improve Yaki’s opinion of her jailer and bodyguard. His eyes still ate at her as if her body was to be served on a platter, and most annoyingly, he made no effort to understand how the Golden Hills worked. “Now,” she said, forcing her face into a mask of politeness, “set the table.”
Together they had dragged a small low table into the boardinghouse room and purchased four cheap pillows for everyone’s rear ends. Why Guro had chosen a garish pink for them all, Yaki didn’t want to ask. He set out bamboo mats while Yaki heaved a large circular basket onto the center of the table. A carafe of beer quickly joined it, minus a glassful that Guro took for himself.
Three soft raps sounded at the door.
“One moment!” Yaki answered in a singsong as she checked herself in her compact mirror and tucked a few stray hairs behind her ear. Guro gulped down his beer and went to stand in the corner of the room. With barely an effort, Yaki summoned an eager Lady Cat mask and threw open the door. Mitsuo stood beyond, looking a bit rumpled in a workman’s jacket and pants. Those sky-blue eyes looked startled as Yaki swept herself against him and pushed up on tiptoes to meet him with an aggressive kiss. He stiffened at first, before his arms closed around her like a man clinging to a shard of lift wood in the sky. They held the kiss until the sound of heavy boots came thumping up the stairs. Yaki felt a flush of embarrassment as she opened her eyes to see Gama’s narrowed eyes watching them.
With a soft eep of surprise, Yaki broke off the kiss and pulled the now-wobbly Mitsuo inside the room. “You’re early,” she chided him.
He offered a sly smile. �
��With a greeting like that, I’m sorry I didn’t answer the summons as soon as I received it.”
“Work before play.” Yaki gestured toward the table. “Have a seat.”
He nodded and she watched him ease himself down onto a pillow. A small voice inside her registered disappointment that he wore no gold chains today. She mentally squashed the thought before turning to Gama, who waited at the stairs. She had recognized him, but looking at him now, Yaki wasn’t quite sure how. Gone was the bookish scribe she had watched be run through. Instead, he wore a leather jacket adorned with intricate beadwork along the sleeves and collar, blue horses running against a background of ruby red. A collection of knives hung from his belt in place of the rapier. Black feathers had been woven into his dark hair and gave him the appearance of a bristling bird as well as adding a few more inches to his already-towering height. Most of all, though, he stood before her sans glasses, replacing his usually bulbous eyes with a strained squint. “Ah, Bobcat among the Grass.” Yaki bowed slightly, allowing herself a small smirk at the name, figuring Gama couldn’t see it. Impressive disguise, but would it work on Mitsuo?
“At your call, m’lady.” Gama said, a frown playing at his lips as his eyes flicked over the room and settled vaguely in Mitsuo’s direction.
“You are also a bit early; won’t you take a seat with us?” Yaki took his hand and subtly guided him toward the table. He found the seat cushion well enough, and Yaki heard the thrum of her heart as Mitsuo studied Gama with a slight cock of his head. Gama extended a hand across the table, which Mitsuo shook.
“Bobcat.”
“Mitsuo.”
And that was as far as the introductions went. Yaki quickly settled herself between them and pushed Lady Cat into a neutral, all-business position. The less these two shared a room, the better. “It is good that both of you are here, as you are the two primary halves of the plan. Mitsuo. You’re in charge of getting the quicksilver out of the foundry, while Bobcat will concern himself with getting the cargo to the docks.”
Mitsuo smirked at Gama. “You’ve got the easier half of it.”
“Only as long as you don’t trip on any alarms on your way in or out,” Gama parried.
“We won’t.” Mitsuo sniffed.
“Everything goes wrong somehow. We’ll need to list failure points and contingencies,” Gama said in a businesslike tone.
Mitsuo’s brows knitted, his eyes examining Gama with new interest and maybe recognition.
Yaki reached out and pulled the cover off the basket, revealing more than a dozen white rice balls. “Hold on, both of you. We’re waiting for one more; we can discuss the plan once he’s here. No need to go through it more than once.”
“We need to go through it more than a dozen times and find all the weakness in it.” Gama’s hand swayed from side to side before grabbing a rice ball.
Mitsuo sighed and went for the beer. “You won’t be able to plan for everything. With the coming war, the foundry is being run even through the Enshadowed hours. We’ll have to bluff our way through someone. We won’t know who until we do it.”
“But you have a plan?” Yaki asked before Gama could.
He took a long swig of beer before answering. “Its…a work in progress. I persuaded my brother to give me a tour. The quicksilver is in the vault, guarded by both Nishamura and Hana ancestors. It’s not easy to get out.”
“So, you’re saying it’s not possible?” Yaki asked, giving up stalling for the fourth member of the council. Mitsuo’s eyes were focused on empty air now at least, visualizing his not-quite-formed plan.
“It is! I’m working on it. I can get us in. It’s the out that worries me. Fifteen tons of quicksilver is not something we can slip into our pockets and walk out with an innocent whistle.”
Gama blinked. “That’s more than—”
“The Steward’s been buying up all the quicksilver he can. I don’t know why and I don’t dare ask anybody in the family,” Mitsuo snapped. “The inventory, however, is no secret. It’s there along with twenty tons of gold, double that for the silver.”
“How’s it stored?” Gama asked.
“In a tank.” Mitsuo shrugged. “The vault isn’t built to protect the metals; it’s really built to protect the power and other large crystals. They’re in an inner vault, rumored to have an actual Yozi bound to it. As long as we don’t attempt to breach that, we won’t invoke the full wrath of the facility.”
Twenty tons of gold. Yaki swallowed back a sudden mouthful of saliva as she wondered how much metal that was. Not to mention an extra five tons of quicksilver. If there would be some way to take it all, then she and Ishe could finance a torch ship and fuel it.
That thought surprised her. Since when do I want my own ship? Yaki pushed the thought away and refocused on Mitsuo and Gama. The pair were arguing about whether you could blow through the foundry wall.
“The foundry was commissioned by the Great Wyrm; you’d need a cannon bigger than the ones on the city walls…” Mitsuo continued; clearly, he’d been doing research. Yaki’s gaze kept drifting back to Gama. He had promised her that Mitsuo would not recognize him. So far, despite the sweat that was beading up on Gama’s brow as Mitsuo countered his objections, Mitsuo gave no sign he knew him.
The dim light of the sun faded out as Gama drew out every scrap of knowledge Mitsuo had on the vault and began to make a list of areas that needed more research. In a half hour, their hostility had broken, with Gama dutifully making notes.
A scratch sounded from the windows after sundown. Yaki rose from her seat, and the two didn’t even notice as she slipped away from the table. Guro, however, tracked her like a hawk as she pulled the screen aside to allow a black-clad figure to tumble into the room.
A loud creak sounded as clawed feet hit the floorboards. Gama glanced up at the noise, squinting hard as the figure straightened up.
The figure cackled and grinned back at Gama, his four yellow incisors prominent. Mitsuo finally stopped talking, following Gama’s gaze over his shoulder, and did a double take at Simon’s black-clad form, eyes widening and hand reaching for his sword as he pistoned up into a fighting stance.
“Yaki, get away!” Mitsuo made to lunge. The Enshadowed squeaked in surprise.
“Hold!” Yaki answered him, interposing herself between the blade and the cloaked figure.
Mitsuo pulled up, nearly tripping over his feet, utter bewilderment on his face. Behind him, Gama had his glasses half out of his jacket.
“I’d like you both to meet Mr. Simon. He is an old associate of Fox Fire,” Yaki said.
“It’s an Enshadowed!” Mitsuo hissed.
“He’s crystal-touched. Nothing contagious about that. Put away your sword.” Yaki put some of her mother’s steel into her voice. Mitsuo waited a beat before slowly easing his rapier back into his sheath.
“Can Simon speak now? Simon is eager to the speak. Has been practicing,” the ratman asked as shuffled around to stand beside Yaki.
“Yes. You can speak, Simon; please join us at the table.”
Now Simon looked at her with a wide eye. “Truly? You invite Simon to eat with you?” With a small squeal of what could only have been joy, the ratman dashed to the unoccupied side of the table on all fours before stopping suddenly. He looked at the pillow, then at Gama, who remained cross-legged, squinting at Simon and swallowing nervously. Simon did his level best to ape the position, crossing his oddly shaped legs and wincing as he did so. As he was nearly all torso, his head towered over the lanky Gama. Only the length of his tail pressed against the floor allowed him to stay upright.
Whiskers quivering, he reached for the basket and drew it near him. He paused, took the silence for permission, and withdrew several rice balls, skewering each with one of his long-clawed fingers.
Mitsuo still stood, hand on sword. Yaki came up behind him and, with a firm hand on his shoulder, guided him back to his seat.
“Now that everyone is here, we can get truly underway.” Yaki s
lipped down into her seat.
“Yaki, why is that thing here?” Mitsuo finally found his voice, his eyes looking as if they were about to fire out of their sockets like cannonballs.
Yaki tapped her chest to remind him that she too should be among the Enshadowed. “He is here because if we are to do this, we will need the permission of the Enshadowed.”
“Wait, you mean to—” Gama began, then comprehension dawned on his face.
“HEEEE!” Simone squealed. “You see, squinty boy, you see!”
“I don’t—” Mitsuo tried to interject.
He was so cute when he was being dense, Yaki thought as she reached over to squeezed his clenched fist. “Do you think we can get fifteen tons of quicksilver and a few tons of gold to the docks in the dead of night without the permission of the Enshadowed, love?”
Mitsuo’s jaw went slack, his eyes staring at Yaki before swiveling back to Simon.
Simon licked at his hands and rubbed them together. “House Nishamura not like Enshadowed. Howling tithes lower than other Houses. So, maybe Lady Night not see us if we ask nice.”
Chapter Seven
In the time of the Empire, there were not only roads that allowed the movement of goods across the lands but also teams of dragons that trawled the rivers to clear them of Grief. Although they always came back.
Rictus Hana, author of The Great Wyrm, the Known History
Without another word, small packs of supplies were distributed, food and axes. Ishe received an iron-headed implement furnished with enough weight on it to require a two-handed swing. The pack had a loop for the axe, but Ishe found herself reluctant to let go of it. Finally, something more to protect herself from this world than her fists. So, she carried it, feeling its comfortable weight as the group stumbled after Hawk in the dark.
Beneath the forest canopy, the lack of starlight rendered the dark nearly as thick as it had been in the mountain caves. The only light once again was the red crystal growths on Blinky’s abdomen. The spider had resumed his slumber on Hawk’s back.
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