by Keira Drake
I glance over at Keiji, who sleeps soundly thanks to Eno’s potent herbs. At least I have the singular comfort of knowing he is not in pain—though I have noticed during the past hour that a fine beading of sweat has appeared across his brow and upper lip. Normal. Of course he will have a fever.
The soft click of the door pulls me from my thoughts, and relief ripples through me as I see Noro step inside. The room is dark, but he carries a slim white candle. He sets the taper into a holder on the table beside the wall, then sits in the chair beside me. I draw in my breath when I see his face: he is bruised, streaked with blood, his lower lip split and swollen on one side.
“Noro,” I whisper, “are you all right?”
“How is my brother?”
I flinch at the sharpness of his tone. “He’s all right, for now. The arrow didn’t pierce anything vital. We must wait and see how he fares against infection.”
Noro puts a hand on Keiji’s forehead, leaves it there for a moment, then leans back in the chair. He is silent.
“He was very brave,” I add. “Even Nobuo called it to attention.”
We sit in awkward silence. Noro does not look at me, nor does he speak.
“Did you find the archer?” I say at length.
“Yes.”
“Did you kill him?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” I say quietly.
Noro leans forward, his dark eyes stormy. “What were you thinking, Vaela?”
“What do you mean?”
“I told you to stay in the cottage!”
“If I had done so, Keiji might have died up there on the wall! You only found him because you saw me in the square. Am I wrong?” He does not answer. “Noro! How can you truly be angry with me?”
“What would you have done if I hadn’t seen you?” He shakes his head, disgusted. “Dragged him down the side of the wall, killed him in the process? He’s more than half your weight—you could not have managed it without Nobuo.”
“I would have found a way to help him,” I say angrily. Keiji shifts onto his side and whimpers, but doesn’t wake. I drop my voice to a whisper. “It is not your place to tell me what I can and cannot do, Noro. I am capable of thinking for myself.”
His nostrils flare, but he tempers his anger before speaking. “It is by sheer luck that you are alive. Do you even begin to understand that? If a single Topi had pursued you as you ran across that gateway, if I had not been there—you would be dead, Vaela.”
“It was a single Topi I meant to kill,” I say. “That’s why I left the cottage in the first place—I thought if I could end the violence of just one man, I might save many lives. I might save you.”
“And how would you accomplish this? You would fling a knife in the dark of night and the driving rain?”
“I would open his throat, exactly as you taught me to do.”
“No. You would not have stood a chance against the men in Hayato tonight. If you were not killed outright, you would have been captured, raped and beaten—kept to be used by any savage who wanted you.” He grips my wrists, his eyes shimmering. “Do you know what the thought of this does to me? To think of you in the hands of such men? It would drive me to madness, Vaela. It is difficult enough to recall the night we met—that zunupi by the fire with his filthy hands on you.” He curses under his breath.
“Nothing happened, Noro. I’m perfectly fine.”
He laughs joylessly. “Nothing happened today. They sent perhaps three hundred men—a pittance compared to the forces they have in reserve. Had they not been spotted by the Hayato guard, all might have fled. Still, it is safe to assume that many escaped, and that they will return in greater numbers—I daresay it is a certainty. And what will happen when they attack Hayato in earnest? How will I protect you? How will I protect Keiji?”
“I don’t know, Noro.”
He leans back, his shoulders slumping, his head in his hands. “For the first time in my life, I feel sure that the Aven’ei will fall. We have lost the stronghold of the south, and naught but a breath of wind from the west will mark our complete destruction.” He looks up at me, defeat in his eyes. “And there is nothing I can do to stop it.”
For four days, Keiji burns with a fever so intense, I am afraid that every moment will be his last. But on the fifth morning, the fever breaks—his skin becomes cool, his eyes clear. He does not speak; Eno indicates that he may never do so again, so traumatic was the wound to his throat. But it is not the loss of his voice, nor the weakness of his body after the wasting fever, nor even the humiliation of falling prey to a Topi arrow—something the old Keiji would have borne with great shame—that renders him utterly despondent. It is Aki’s death.
When first he woke, he patted the coverlets with urgency. The question was clear: where is Aki? Noro answered in soft words, telling him of Aki’s courageous sacrifice. Keiji wept in silence, his face turned into the pillowcase, this new agony too much to bear.
Afterward, his eyes were dark and still, all of the light in him blown out as though he were a candle in a drafty hall. To see him this way is to suffer a new kind of grief, for although he is now safe from harm, he is lost. Aki was his companion and his guardian from birth. And now Keiji is alone, or so it seems to him.
When he rises to take his first shaky steps around the yard, I watch from the window, anger growing in my heart. At ten years old, this child has seen more suffering than even the poorest and most infirm citizen of the Spire. And for what? Why do the Topi come again and again, reveling in their senseless war? More than a hundred Aven’ei were lost in this attack. Must every last one of them be destroyed before there is peace on the Continent?
Keiji stops to rest on the sandstone bench, the same one I sat upon so many months ago. The place where I made peace with my own grief, where I chose to return to the world. What must Keiji feel, wounded and separated from his lifelong friend? What hope will make him choose to come back to us? In this moment, I see the war not as a whole, but in the broken heart of this one child. In his tears I see the blood of his kin, of the thousands who are dead and buried. And in his suffering, I make yet another choice—one that I hope will change the fate that seems so clearly written for Keiji and all the rest.
Noro, returning from a meeting with the council, approaches the window. He crosses his arms, frowning as he watches his brother sit silent and alone in the yard.
“I need to go home, Noro,” I say.
He nods. “I think the danger is past. Keiji will recover. You should return to the cottage if you like—I will stay with him until he is well enough to leave.”
“I don’t mean the cottage. I need to go back to the Spire.”
From the corner of my eye, I see him stiffen. He turns to me and takes my hand. “Is this because of my words the other night? I am truly sorry for my anger, miyake. I was afraid.”
I look down to see my pale fingers wrapped in his. “I would never leave you for so small a thing.”
He takes my face in his hands, his eyes searching mine. “Then why? Do you fear the Topi?”
“I would be a fool if I did not fear the Topi. But that is not the reason I must go. I hope…I believe there is something I can do that may yet turn the tide of this war.”
“Explain.”
“You say that the annihilation of your people is imminent—that the Aven’ei can no longer save themselves. I trust your judgment, Noro—I truly believe it is as dire as you say. If you are to survive, you must have help.”
“Help,” he says, incredulous. “From the Spire?”
“Yes.”
“I see. It is your opinion that they will, after two centuries of indifference to the suffering on the Continent, suddenly decide to intervene? Tell me: why, exactly, would they do this?”
“I will explain how desperate the situation has become.”
His jaw clenches. “They already know, Vaela. Their planes have flown overhead for more than a quarter of a century—longer even than I have lived! They have seen it. All
of it. And they have done nothing.”
“No. They have seen from a distance, with eyes of curiosity and with hearts that have forgotten the true nature of war. It has been generations since blood was shed in battle between the nations of the Spire. They do not remember. But I can make them remember.”
“How?”
“I will tell them everything that has come to pass since the heli-plane went down. I will explain in a way that will help them to understand. I know the Chancellor personally—he is a good man, Noro. He will not turn his back on your people. He cannot.”
“And what then?”
“Perhaps the Aven’ei would be welcome in the Spire.”
He laughs. “All these months with my people, yet you do not see the roots that bind us here? This is our home. The Aven’ei will never leave the Continent, even if our destruction is the price.”
“I thought you would say as much. If you will not be compelled to leave, then we must find another way.”
“Your people have no armies. No fighting force of any kind. What other way can there be?”
“I don’t know,” I say, looking up at him. “But I must find out.”
He gives me a sad smile. “Go then, miyake. But do not waste your breath in petition for the Aven’ei—and do not return here. Stay in the Spire, where you are safe. Go back to your people and live.”
I kiss him softly. “Oh, Noro. I would never be parted from you. I give you my word that I will return. And when I do, I will bring peace to the Continent. One way or another, I will bring peace.”
CHAPTER 24
THE SILENCE IN THE WAR ROOM IS PALPABLE. There is a distinct air of dissension. Yet no one—not Teku, Inzo, nor even Shoshi—has spoken since I put forth the specifics of my plan.
At length, it is Teku who finally responds. “We appreciate your good intentions, Vaela Sun, but the situation here in Hayato has become dire. We need every man available to us at this time—the Topi may be on the march even now. Our scouts are vigilant, but they cannot see all. Even a Topi horde may progress unseen for many miles.”
“I understand your position,” I say. “But with such a pressing threat, mightn’t it be wise to seek help while you still can?”
Teku gives me a patient smile. “If I thought your people would offer such help, I would be inclined to agree.”
“I don’t know,” Inzo says. “I think we ought to send her to the Four Nations.”
If Teku is surprised, he does not show it. “Speak freely then, brother. Tell me why we should do this thing.”
“The Topi have pressed our backs against the sea, Teku Ana. It is a matter of time now—nothing more. They will not rest until every last one of us is gone.”
“I do not believe it is so hopeless as that.”
Inzo’s jaw tightens. “Then you are unwilling to see what is plain before you.”
Teku frowns. “Do you doubt my leadership?”
“I only feel that we must decide these matters with open eyes. Vigilance and pride did not protect us against this recent attack—”
“Yet we prevailed,” Teku interjects.
“Because we had the greater numbers!” Inzo says, his face dark with emotion. “My scouts report that the Topi in the southern camps are six thousand strong—six thousand, Teku Ana. This village will crumble before such a force.”
“We have gathered allies to our breast, Inzo Saki. We have doubled our scouts, and we are fortifying our defenses. We communicate daily with the villages to the north and south. We do all we can.”
Inzo shakes his head. “It will not be enough. Surely you must see the truth.”
“I see that you are defeated,” Teku says, “before a single blow has been struck.”
“Send her to the Four Nations,” Inzo insists. “Let us turn over every stone, and we may yet survive.”
Teku is silent for a moment. He turns to Shoshi, who sits with his arms crossed, a bored expression on his face. “What say you, Shoshi Kaken? You are never without an opinion.”
Shoshi glances up at him. “I say we send the girl away.”
“You think the Four Nations will come to our assistance?”
Shoshi blinks, and then laughs so hard, and for so long, that the rest of us stare at him in awkward, bewildered silence.
“Oh,” he finally says, rubbing a knuckle over each eye. “The Four Nations, Deliverers of the Aven’ei! Ha. I think it more likely that the Topi will come for tea.”
“Why, then, do you suggest she go?”
“Come, now, Teku Ana. We’ve had trouble and nothing more since the girl arrived. Put her in a boat and send her home—we will be well rid of her.”
“You bring dishonor to yourself each time you open your mouth.”
Shoshi shrugs, a smirk of amusement still curling upward at the corner of his lips. “I am entitled to my opinion, just as you are.”
Teku ignores this and turns his attention to me. “Two on this council are inclined to send you to the Four Nations, Vaela Sun—though for disparate reasons, to be sure.” He sighs, his shoulders slumping slightly—an uncharacteristic bearing for him. “For my part, I feel the venture is not worth the risk—either to the village, or to you and Noro.”
Noro leans forward. “There is little danger where we are concerned, Teku Ana. It will take a day to reach the coast, and we shall spend another at sea. The journey would comprise a few days’ time at most.”
Teku regards him thoughtfully. “You would escort her to the island and return at once?”
“At once.”
“The distance in sailing does not trouble you? Or the last breath of the kazuri ko?”
“One mile upon the sea is much like any other, and we are near enough to autumn,” Noro says. “The fishing grounds are ten miles out—we need to travel thirty. It is not so great a distance, and the vessels are swift.”
Teku makes a small noise of assent. “It does seem less formidable a thing, when you phrase it this way.” He glances back and forth between Noro and I. “And the two of you are willing to be parted?”
Noro leans back, relaxing a bit. “I wish to put as much distance as possible between Vaela and the Continent.”
Teku smiles at this, though sadly. “Very well, then. You will go, Vaela Sun, with my blessing and with the fastest vessel the two of you can manage. But waste no time. You must leave tomorrow, for Noro is needed here, with those whose very lives depend on him.”
The following morning, I wait in the sitting room at Eno’s while Noro shares a private farewell with his brother. The soft murmur of Noro’s voice hums through the wall, steady and soothing. Even so, I am restless, frustrated by the timing of all that has come to pass. I hate to leave Keiji behind, especially so soon after his injury, but I must take this opportunity to see if the Spire can help. I only hope Keiji will understand.
After a few minutes, Noro appears around the corner. “He wants to see you. But be warned—he is angry.”
In the healing room, Keiji sits cross-legged on the bed, his face turned toward the window. A clean white bandage encircles his neck—a chilling reminder of how nearly we lost him. He glances at me as I enter, hurt and frustration in his eyes. I sit on the edge of the bed and take his hands in mine.
“I shall miss you very much,” I say. “But I will return as soon as I can, and hopefully with very good news.”
He shakes his head and jerks his hands away, a tear sliding down his cheek. He wipes angrily at his face and turns away from me.
“Keiji…” My heart aches at his distance, at the darkness that surrounds him. If I could mend his hurts, if I could wind back the clock and prevent Aki’s death, if I could take Keiji’s pain as my own, I would do so without a second thought. But I can do none of these things—I cannot even stay to help him as he once helped me. I put my arms around him and pull him close. “I will come back, sweet one. I do love you so.”
He leans against my shoulder, weeping freely now. I rock him in my arms, resting my cheek atop
his head, shattered by his suffering. Noro calls to me from the door, but I ignore him. How can I let go? How can I let go when Keiji is so broken, and so very alone?
“Vaela,” Noro says softly. “We must be on our way if we are to reach the coast by nightfall.”
I kiss the top of Keiji’s head and get to my feet. After a moment’s thought, I unclasp the chain about my neck and place the necklace—with its precious ruby pendant—in Keiji’s hands. He looks at me in surprise, his face still wet with tears. He examines the stone carefully, turning it over in his palm.
“Insazi,” I say. “You know this word?”
He nods, his eyes still on the pendant.
“Love, family, forever,” I say. “Think of me when you feel alone, Keiji. And know that you are not.”
We depart near ten o’ clock, leaving through the village gates and moving back along the walls toward the coast. The air is crisp and cool, the weather fine. Soon, the leaves will turn to russet and gold, and the chill of autumn will embrace the Continent. But for now, for our journey, the last sigh of summer promises fair temperatures and quick travel.
As I follow Noro along the rocky, winding path that will lead us to the sea, I cannot help but to reflect upon how different this journey is from our last. The landscape has changed, of course—the snow is long since melted, while the trees and flowers now bloom in great profusion. But it is more than that.
On that last terrible crossing, my every step was taken in a haze of shock and grief. And though this journey bears its own share of sadness, there is also great joy to be found. It is the small things that bring me such happiness, bittersweet though it is: taking a meal in the sunshine near the base of a roaring waterfall, rainbows sparkling in the mist and spray; a small smile from Noro as he turns back to make sure that I am near; the laughter and easy conversation we share as we walk.
A part of me wishes he could accompany me to the Spire—how lovely it would be, under different circumstances, to show him all the wonders of my former life. But of course, he cannot be spared. And as we near the great cliffs of the eastern sea, the reality of our imminent parting stabs at me with ragged strokes. This will be our last night together. Tomorrow, we shall sail to Ivanel, and Noro will return to the Continent without me. I can hardly bear the thought.