“Not more lessons!” She leaned back against the wall and sulked, for a moment appearing much younger than her age – making a face one might more expect from a toddler being denied a toy. “All I ever do is study.”
“Of course you do. Your mother has high expectations for you. A lady of your standing should be knowledgeable in the ways of the multiverse.”
“I’ve been studying that stuff for years.”
Shitoro crossed his tiny arms and stared up at the much taller girl – almost the same height as her mother, he noted. Kisaki had inherited her mother’s flawless skin and exquisite looks, but her hair and eyes were both several shades lighter. Ironic, Shitoro often considered, that the daughter of Lady Midnite should possess features more closely related to the morning sun.
In human terms, Kisaki appeared to be a girl in her late teens, but appearances had nothing to do with one’s true age in the celestial palace, something Shitoro had to constantly remind her of.
“One does not learn the intricacies of billions of years of rich history in the span of barely six decades. It is doubly impossible when one spends so much of that time whining about it.”
Kisaki’s face fell and Shitoro knew he’d won, for now. With each passing year, she’d grown more willful. Despite his official status as her mentor and guardian, he knew his job would only continue to become more difficult.
That was a worry for another day, though.
“Come along, child,” Shitoro said, leading the way to Kisaki’s study chambers. Her steps were light, but his hearing was excellent and he heard her falling in line behind him.
“Maybe we can study somewhere else today,” she suggested hopefully after a few moments of walking.
“If you wish,” he replied. “Your bedroom, or perhaps the walled garden.”
Kisaki’s steps fell silent behind him and he turned to find her again pouting. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve studied there hundreds of times.”
“Yes, and they have somehow managed to survive your tantrums.”
“I’m not having a tantrum,” she replied before sticking her tongue out at the little tiger demon. “I’m just bored. Maybe someplace new will, I don’t know, stimulate my mind.”
“I sincerely doubt that,” Shitoro muttered. “Besides, you know the rules.”
“The rules are stupid.”
“The rules were put in place by your mother. Perhaps you would prefer an audience with her to let her know how stupid you find her judgment.”
That finally gave Kisaki pause. Shitoro knew the girl wasn’t afraid of him by any stretch of the imagination, but she knew better than to risk a tongue-lashing by her mother. He almost wished she’d push the point. Watching Lady Midnite at work was pure pleasure, something he would never grow tired of despite his relatively new station as the girl’s guardian. “I thought not,” he said. “Now come along.”
Kisaki paused for a few moments longer, stopping and staring at the door leading to her mother’s audience chamber. Beyond it lay the exit to other wings of the celestial palace, places Kisaki had never been.
Sadly, he mused, noting the heavy reinforced bars sealing the door from the inside – bars he himself oversaw the construction of over seventy years ago – despite her inclinations to the contrary, Kisaki would never be permitted to explore the rest of the palace.
It was for her own well-being.
♦ ♦ ♦
Kisaki fumed at being rebuked yet again. All she wanted was a change of pace. Ever since she could remember, she’d seen the same walls, the same floors, the same faces. True, she had servants, and yes, she lived in finery – never being hungry, never feeling threatened – but it felt to her like a prison nevertheless. She’d read about them in her seemingly endless studies, knew they were where those who broke the law were put to serve their sentences. She also knew they were designed to break the spirits of those trapped within.
Why couldn’t Shitoro, or her mother, for that matter, understand that her spirit would eventually break, too, despite everything that was provided to her?
Her mother was free to walk the halls, or so Kisaki believed. At the very least, she spent a great deal of time in her audience chamber – a place Kisaki had briefly seen a few times, before having the doors slammed in her face and subsequently locked. Even one new room would be a breath of fresh air to her stagnant life.
Nevertheless, she considered as she pretended to read the scroll in front of her, it wasn’t like she would be given much chance to enjoy any new surroundings, not with Shitoro’s seemingly endless litany of lessons. History, in particular, irked her. Not because she found it unpleasant. It was quite the opposite. Learning of the grand adventures others embarked upon, while she was kept cooped up like a pet, was maddening.
Today’s lesson was a prime example. She was reading about Yamato Takeru and his victory against an army of youkai. The scrolls in front of her discounted him as a mere human, their tone dismissive, but she could imagine the battle in her mind. Everything she read about humans had pegged them as lesser beings but, despite their frailty, time and again they were victorious over creatures much greater than themselves. In fact, despite the arrogant assumptions Shitoro made about them being a barbaric species, it instead appeared they excelled at being underdogs.
Kisaki could relate. She certainly felt like an underdog most days. Despite Shitoro and the others ostensibly being labeled as her servants, oftentimes she felt far beneath them, especially since they weren’t bound to the same rules she was. She’d seen them come and go, unlocking the barriers that kept her in, before quickly shutting them up again before she could even take a peek through.
She’d once, about thirty years earlier, tried to bully her way past one of her more easily browbeaten servants, only to find her mother’s stern gaze waiting on the other side of the door, cutting her adventure short before it could even begin.
Since then, she’d been given very strict orders to not interfere with the comings and goings of the youkai who served them. As usual, her protests to the contrary had borne no fruit.
“And what does Yamato’s victory teach us?” Shitoro asked.
“Huh?” She looked up to find the little tiger demon staring at her expectantly. He was obviously waiting for an answer, and she was in no mood for another lecture from him this day. Besides, if he thought she wasn’t paying attention, he would just make her start over again. His lessons were already painfully long as it was.
“That...” she hesitated, trying to think of an answer that would make it seem as if she had been engrossed in the story before her. “That, no matter the odds, victory is never assured. The proclamations of others that something is impossible doesn’t mean that it is.”
“Nonsense,” Shitoro replied dismissively, a look of annoyance crossing his face. “It simply means that anyone can get lucky.” He leaned over Kisaki and pointed out several sections of the scroll. “Look at this, here, here, and here. Yamato had no real strategy. It was little more than a stroke of...”
The rest of his words were lost to her as she spied the golden key dangling from the chain around his neck. It unlocked the door to her mother’s audience chamber. He was never without it, and now it was mere inches from her face.
As she stared at it, she began to consider that perhaps the little tiger youkai, despite his smug demeanor, was wrong after all. Just because something was deemed impossible, didn’t mean she couldn’t succeed. Even if it was, she should at least try.
♦ ♦ ♦
Days passed while Kisaki planned her escape. The truth of the matter was, it wasn’t really much of a plan. Sadly, she had little idea what lay inside her mother’s chambers, much less beyond. She would have to play it by ear once she was out.
Kisaki wasn’t stupid. In truth, she expected to be caught quickly. But she felt the risk was worth it. Even a glimpse of something new, something different, could sustain her for years after the malaise of c
onfinement she’d been feeling.
In order to make it work, though, she needed two things – Shitoro to drop his guard, and for her mother to be elsewhere. Without both, she would fail and, knowing her luck, the barricades on the doors would be doubled or tripled to dissuade further attempts.
The first of those was easy enough. She fell into her studies, making it a point to be on time and pay attention. It was painfully dull, especially during Shitoro’s nearly endless lectures on mathematics and conjuration, two subjects which Kisaki seemed to have no aptitude for. She only perked up during her history lessons, becoming lost in the tales of humans – seemingly so small and insignificant compared to their divine betters – overcoming insurmountable odds and pushing their domain ever further.
Yes. If they could do it, then so could she.
It was the second part that would be tricky. Her mother was far more cunning than Shitoro. She would see through a simple ploy almost instantly.
Her mother was also quite busy, often dealing with matters of court or with the other daimao, who Kisaki assumed lived elsewhere in the palace but had never actually met. Most often this was done in her chambers, but on rare occasion, matters would draw her away. That was what she kept watch for.
She waited for the days when her mother did not summon her for tea or to discuss her lessons. On those days, she purposely pestered the little tiger demon for an audience. She wasn’t particularly intent on being granted one. In fact, she knew Shitoro would, in most cases, dismiss her with replies of how her mother couldn’t be disturbed. It was actually his answers she was most interested in.
She hoped to come off as merely a needy child. Thus, his refusals were often met with sullen responses of “Why?” At first, Shitoro stuck to his mainstays, that it was time for her to study and it wasn’t her place to question. However, she was persistent and, no doubt hoping to quiet her tantrums, as he liked to call them, Shitoro began to give more detailed answers.
“No, you cannot see your mother because she is discussing matters of importance in her audience chamber.”
“No. You cannot see your mother because she is busy entertaining today.”
“No. I am afraid that is impossible for, you see, your mother has been summoned to an important gathering and, before you ask, it is not something I can discuss with you.”
It was that last one she was truly waiting for.
5
“Something must be done!”
“And what do you propose, brother?” Rokusan asked from his usual seat in the assembly chamber.
Ichitiro slammed a black gauntleted fist onto the table, the sound echoing through the room. “Action. Anything. More than we have done the last seventy of their years, hiding here while the humans grow stronger by the day. The power they have harnessed, it is an insult to us and to the elder gods.”
“I am not certain I agree,” Reiden commented from the head of the table. “For thousands of years, Ichitiro, have we not had to listen to you bemoaning the humans’ stupidity, their lack of progress in the art of war? Now they have finally made the progress you claim to have hoped for, and yet you are the first to complain that it is too much.”
Midnite stifled the smile that threatened to escape her lips at watching her would-be suitor knocked down a peg. Ichitiro might be unstoppable on the battlefield, but waging a war of words was an entirely different matter altogether.
Others in the room were not so generous toward the war demon, agreeing with Reiden, eldest of the daimao, and earning them glares from Ichitiro that spoke of promises of retribution. He was neither known for his eloquence nor his sense of humor.
He glanced her way and she quickly averted her eyes toward her sister Hinode, sitting next to her. Midnite was fond of her, but not so much that she didn’t occasionally wish Ichitiro would turn his advances her way.
Alas, so long as she possessed the Taiyosori, that wasn’t likely to happen.
It was almost as if Ichitiro read her mind, because he bellowed, “I say we flood their cities. We rain fire from the sky upon their fields. We unleash the Taiyosori upon them, show them that no matter how far they believe they have progressed, their power is nothing compared to the gods.”
“The blade of heaven is not yours to unleash upon anyone,” Midnite replied. “And what makes you think they would cower before your so-called show of strength?”
“What else could they do?” he asked arrogantly, his eyes drinking her in.
“Match your force with equal or greater,” she stated.
That had been the argument which had kept them deadlocked for over half a century. Once again, it served to silence all discussion in the chamber.
Midnite considered this. The battle she had witnessed all those years ago, it had been but a small part of a much larger conflict. In retrospect, it was no wonder she and her brethren had awoken from their slumber. When last they’d walked amongst mankind, their world had been a large and daunting place. Only the bravest of humans would dare to venture out on rickety ships bound for new lands, knowing the odds were against them ever returning. In those days, most wars were petty affairs. True, there had been some visionaries, but they were few and far between.
However, the world had apparently become a much smaller place in the time since they last strode upon it. Midnite had been impressed with the ships she’d seen – those in the air as well as upon the sea. What she hadn’t realized during that fateful night was the conflict spanned nearly the breadth of the entire planet.
At first, upon her return to the palace the next day, she’d found her drowsy siblings as excited as she was. Ichitiro had been singing a different tune then, crowing about how mankind had finally managed to overcome their many limitations. They now sailed in mighty ships made of iron that could spew death in many directions at once. They now crossed the land in metal chariots that didn’t rely upon beasts of burden. They had even conquered the sky itself.
In those early days, a sense of anticipation flowed from this chamber. Several of her brothers and sisters made similar sojourns to the planet below, marveling in the new sights and sounds. Many talked about openly presenting themselves upon the battlefield so as to test the mettle of this new level of warfare the humans had developed. Soon, they had shed the malaise that had led them to slumber and the halls of the celestial palace had become busy with activity again.
It was perfect timing, for it meant they were too busy to notice her and how her body was changing.
Then it happened.
An entire city destroyed in one fell swoop. A burst of energy upon one of the blessed isles, so powerful and devastating that all of her kind felt it in their very bones. Though none dared admit it afterward, they trembled – for what the humans had unleashed felt akin to the power of the elder gods themselves.
Disbelief spread through the halls of the celestial palace. It was a fluke, Reiden declared in this very chamber. It had to have been some accidental magic, perhaps another dimension brushing against this one too brusquely. As far as they had come, surely what had happened was impossible for such lowly beings as humans.
Then, a few days later, it happened again, this time even more powerful.
Another city was felled within minutes.
This time, there was no denying the truth: the humans, for so long pathetic beings barely worthy of recognition, had harnessed a power far greater than any of her kind thought them ever capable.
In the past, humans had been able to defeat various youkai, through strength of numbers or cunning. A few of the mazoku had even fallen to their more exceptional members. But a daimao? Such a thought was laughable at best.
In a flash, that had all changed. As powerful as they were, as much divine energy they had at their command, they were forced to admit this new power the humans had harnessed was capable of killing even their kind. The humans – lowest of the low – now possessed a capability that none save the gods themselves wielded.
Following this realization, something new happened within the ever-turning celestial cycle, for perhaps the first time in forever – the daimao retreated from the Earth, not out of boredom, but out of fear.
The ways were shut and locked. The gates sealed. None of the daimao dared visit the planet below. Likewise, access to the crystals that allowed servants to venture forth between the two realms was forbidden. Many of their cousins, both youkai and mazoku, were trapped on Earth, left to fend for themselves. Those who survived retreated to the forests or mountains to live like dogs, lest they find themselves hunted.
At the time, Reiden claimed it all to be temporary. The ways would be opened again as soon as the daimao reached a conclusion as to what needed to be done.
Yet decades had passed, and they continued to do nothing but argue. All the while, mankind continued to march forward at a pace undreamt of, building ever more powerful weapons of war. They’d even gone so far as to touch the face of the moon orbiting their planet. Some began to speak in hushed tones that soon the humans would possess the ability to detect the celestial palace itself. If so, what then? What if they invaded? What if they accidentally woke the elder gods?
Barely contained panic had taken hold.
Not all of it was bad, though, Midnite considered.
The chaos that had been borne of this had benefited her, given her an opportunity to fortify her chambers without question.
It had allowed her to keep safe the very special secret that none of her kind could ever know about.
6
Kisaki’s window of opportunity was short. There was no time to dawdle or have second thoughts.
Shitoro might not have been as clever as he thought, but he wasn’t stupid by any means. He was also a stickler for detail and routine. It wouldn’t be long before he realized she had swiped the key from around his neck.
It had been a particularly dull session, focusing on the politics of various interdimensional species – comparing and contrasting them – but that had been perfect. At one point, Kisaki had pretended to nod off, something very believable considering the topic. When Shitoro had walked over to wake her, she’d toppled over, forcing him to catch her.
Midnite's Daughter Page 4
