Endsinger: The Lotus War Book Three

by Jay Kristoff

  Maro stepped up beside her. The Kagé lieutenant was swathed in black, just as she. A straight-edged sword and warclub on his back, smoke bombs and hand-flares at his waist.

  “The captain says we should descend below the cloud cover soon,” Maro said. “Get our bearings on First House.”

  Kaori nodded, eyes still fixed on the place where the stars should have been.

  “The warriors are ready,” Maro said. “Gear is triple-checked.”

  When Maro spoke, Kaori could hear rage underscoring every word. A fresh grief, born after his brother had perished bringing word of the Earthcrusher’s construction in autumn. Maro and Ryusaki had been inseparable—both Iron Samurai serving under her father, joining him in protest, leaving Yoritomo’s service and seeking the Kagé after …

  After.

  But rage was good. From rage came strength beyond strength. And they’d need every drop of it if they were to step knowingly into the serpent’s maw.

  “Take us down.”

  The bass-thick hiss of compressors kicked along the inflatable, the command to descend rolling over the crew. The ship was a fast-running merchantman called Firestorm, owned by a captain named Nori. The man had become a Kagé ally when his son was jailed by a corrupt magistrate who’d taken a shine to the boy’s new bride. He stood on the pilot’s bridge, both hands on the wheel as Firestorm slipped through the clouds.

  “Brace yourselves, friends!” he cried. “High winds below!”

  The merchantman pushed out into black skies, lightning shattering the dark off their starboard side. Cloudwalkers cursed in the rigging, several shouting prayers to Susano-ō and his vengeful son Raijin. The thought of the Thunder God brought unwelcome images of Yukiko and Buruu, and like a shadow after their passing, the ghost-pale form of Kin with his knife-bright eyes and plans within plans.

  Anger seethed, bright and hot, fingers crushed into fists. She stalked across the deck, taking stairs two at a time up to the pilot’s landing.

  Nori was squinting into the black with a telescoping spyglass.

  “A multitude of lights northeast,” he nodded, handing over the device. “I fear, fair Lady, there lies your Earthcrusher and its army.”

  Kaori ignored the affectations in Nori’s speech, the highborn accent. Even here, on the wrong side of the Tiger Daimyo and the Guild’s law, the Phoenix captain couldn’t help playing the artiste. Despite the hurricane winds, he’d even managed to strap his hat on at a rakish angle.

  She peered through the spyglass, spotting a cluster of lights through the pummeling rain. She could make out a behemoth’s silhouette, towering above the broken earth.

  “Take us as close to First House as you’re able and drop us near the chi pipeline.”

  “Lady, you do realize First House is a mountain bastion? Do you plan to sprout wings when you reach it?”

  “We don’t need wings, Captain, we have hands. Hands and the will to use them.”

  “And what of the Stain? Fissures in the earth running for miles, fumes stirring not a foot in the strongest wind. The oldest stretch of deadlands in the Imperium. Any who go there die, Lady. How in the name of the Gods will you walk it unscathed?”

  Hers was a smile of midnight and ice.

  “On the road the Guild built for us.”

  * * *

  The bridge staff were assembled, atmos-suits freshly polished, Kin standing at the end of the line beside Commander Rei. The group stood on the Earthcrusher’s spaulder amidst howling wind. An ironclad loomed overhead, propellers blasting at the black rain, lightning crackling across the clouds above.

  The ironclad’s engines roared over the storm as it moored itself. Kin fancied he could hear rain spitting and popping on the red-hot engine housings. The captain must have thrashed the ironclad for most of the journey, driving the engines as hard as he dared. Kin could imagine a shadow looming over the captain’s shoulder, eyes burning with the heat of the hidden sun, fixed on the horizon as they drew ever closer.

  And here came the shadow now, stepping out over the ironclad’s railing, winched down onto the Earthcrusher’s spaulder. Come to pilot his creation to final victory.

  Shateigashira Kensai. Second Bloom of Chapterhouse Kigen.

  Kin wondered why the Second Bloom hadn’t simply flown down to the gantry, but as he landed, Kensai sagged, steadying himself on an Artificer who’d come to his assistance. Kin realized the explosion must have done more damage than anyone had been led to believe.

  “Shateigashira Kensai, we are honored to welcome you aboard Earthcrusher!”

  Kin slapped hand over fist in unison with the other Guildsman, the multitude bowing in one fluid motion. Commander Rei was obviously overjoyed at the presence of his sensei, but a faint concern edged his voice as he spoke over the storm.

  “Are you well, Second Bloom? Your injuries . .?”

  Kensai straightened slowly. Several other Lotusmen dropped down from the ironclad, landing on the gantry in a blaze of blue-white light. They hovered near the Second Bloom, intent on assisting him if needed, but careful not to actually touch him.

  Kensai spoke, voice taut with pain.

  “A simple scratch is not enough to keep me from this triumph, Rei-san.”

  “If you require assistance—”

  “You have your own duties, Commander. But I believe my presence here renders at least one of your personnel redundant. Perhaps he would be kind enough to assist me during my stay?” Kensai turned his eyes to the end of the line. “If you can spare the time, Kin-san?”

  “It would be my honor to serve you, Second Bloom.”

  “No doubt.” Kensai hobbled to Kin’s side, breath rasping, rain beating on their skins like a thousand metal drums. Like the pulse racing in Kin’s chest.

  Kensai placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, as if he required the support.

  “Lead on, Kin-san.”

  Head high, Kin turned to the gaping hatchway and led Kensai inside.

  * * *

  He hadn’t coughed for fourteen minutes and eleven seconds.

  The count ticked over in Daichi’s head, moment by moment, dry tongue catching on chapped lips. Every breath was edged with dull pain, black spreading across his lungs. A rag tied around his face was his only filter, but the air in the sky-ship’s belly was probably cleaner than abovedeck, and for that at least, he was thankful to his captors.

  Strange how a week of agony could make you thankful for the smallest mercy.

  When he’d agreed to help Kin get aboard the Earthcrusher, he’d consigned himself to death. But he hadn’t known the shape it would take. Seeing it coalesce before him, imagining the tortures the First Bloom might put him through for his amusement …

  He willed himself still. Closed his eyes and thought of Kaori. The life she might have when all this was said and done.

  The engine’s hum dropped an octave, propellers slowing their pace. Daichi lifted his head, listening to the heavy tread above, the rasping of faint metallic voices. And there in the hold’s gloom, he felt them—that now familiar absence of presence, that deepening darkness filled with the sorrow of flowers without sunlight.

  “It is time,” said the first Inquisitor.

  “I am ready,” Daichi whispered.

  Laughter then, laced with something cold and not entirely human.

  “No. You are not.”

  The laughter died quickly, as Daichi hoped he might.

  “No one ever is.”

  34

  SLUMBER’S END

  … You have a son?

  Buruu watched Yukiko, head tilted, studying her expression. Eyes wide as a full moon. Pale as the foam on the breakers below. Amazement scribed in every line and curve of the features he knew so well.

  YOU SOUND SURPRISED.

  Of course I’m surprised!

  AND WHY?

  Gods, I don’t know. You just don’t … You don’t seem the father type.

  AND WHAT DOES THAT SEEMING LOOK LIKE?

  Hel
ls, I don’t know. Lotus pipes and gambling habits?

  YUKIKO, I HAVE A MATE. WHY WOULD I NOT HAVE CUBS?

  I suppose … You always struck me as so young. You don’t seem much older than I am.

  He glanced to the small swelling at her midriff beneath the banded iron.

  IF I HAD EYEBROWS, THEY’D BE HEADED SKYWARD RIGHT NOW.

  All right, all right. Good point, well made.

  ONE PLUS ONE EVENTUALLY EQUALS THREE.

  His name is Rhaii?

  YES. IT MEANS “HOPE.”

  How old was he when you left Everstorm?

  A HANDFUL OF MONTHS.

  Buruu looked south, spying Shai winging her way back across the waves, a small, white shape beside her.

  HE WILL NOT REMEMBER ME.

  Yukiko put her arms around his neck, squeezed tight.

  He may not remember. But he’ll love you. You’re his father.

  “FATHER” IS JUST ANOTHER WORD FOR “STRANGER,” TO THOSE WHO GROW UP WITHOUT ONE.

  He felt sadness in her then, her hand straying to her belly’s warmth, hanging her head as the rain dripped through the curtains of her hair. And he closed his eyes, cursed himself for a fool, so clumsy and fumbling and unused to human ways.

  RAIJIN SAVE ME, I AM SORRY. THAT WAS NOT WHAT I MEANT …

  It is what you meant. And it’s true. I know what it is to grow up without a parent.

  ALL THAT MATTERS IS THEY GROW IN A PLACE OF LOVE. ONE OR TWO SUNS MAKES NO DIFFERENCE. ONLY THAT THERE IS LIGHT.

  She looked to the figures flying toward them. And in a moment, all the sorrow and heartache and worry melted from her face, lit with such a smile that it seemed Lady Amaterasu had come out from behind the clouds.

  He’s so beautiful …

  He saw him then, a little bundle of fresh feathers and fur, still downy and gray in patches; infancy yet unshed. But though the winds were fierce as tigers, though he was probably too young to make the flight, on he came, tiny wings pounding with all the fury of Raijin’s drums.

  His contribution to the future of the arashitora race.

  His little Rhaii.

  His Hope.

  My gods, Buruu, he looks just like you …

  Shai came in to land, talons sparking on the sheer granite. She turned to watch her son, and Buruu curled his wing about her, heart filled with pride. The little figure struggled on, tossed about like a kite in the storm. But still he flew, brave as dragons, finally extending cub-sharp claws into a stumbling, tumbling landing that flipped him end over end and brought him to rest at his father’s feet.

  Oh, no … the poor treasure …

  Yukiko knelt on the stone, reaching out toward him as he pulled himself to his feet, sneezed the rain from his nostrils and shook himself like a puppy.

  Oh, you adorable little boy …

  The cub caught sight of her, wide eyes growing wider still. He puffed up his hackles, spreading his wings in threat and let loose the most fearsome growl he could muster—a tiny mewl barely worthy of the title. Yukiko pulled her hands back as he snapped at them, bouncing backward toward his mother on clumsy legs, snarling with his tiny voice.

  Gods above, he’s got a temper …

  *HE HAS A FIGHTER’S SPIRIT. LIKE HIS FATHER.*

  Curiosity shone in the cub’s eyes, peering up at Buruu from behind Shai’s legs. His mother moved her head down, nudged him forward with an encouraging purr. Buruu knelt on the stone, the pain of his wounds forgotten, bringing his eyes level with the cub’s. The last time he’d seen his son, he was barely more than a mouthful of fur and feathers.

  The cub sniffed him, hackles still raised, prancing slowly toward him. Buruu shifted his wing and Rhaii bounced back, wings spread, growling. But slowly, ever so slowly, he crept forward again, head tilted as the rain continued to fall. He was perhaps two feet long, lustrous fur only faintly marked with the shadow of his stripes. But Buruu could see they would be bold and black, that he’d grow strong and fierce and carry the legacy of his forefathers into future years.

  Buruu rested his chin on the ground. And little Rhaii walked up and pressed his forehead to Buruu’s own, rested one paw against his cheek and purred.

  He could hear Yukiko trying to muffle her sobs, joyful tears amidst the rain. He gathered her in one wing, drew her close, Shai nuzzling against his other flank. And he knew, with every ounce of himself, that this moment, this second, would live in his memory forever. That here, he was whole and he was perfect. That no matter what was to come, this would always be his.

  MY FAMILY.

  Always.

  * * *

  They gave him the time he was due. An hour to savor his homecoming, to play with his son, chasing each other amongst the clouds. But they were waiting when he returned to the aerie, black and white, young and old. Sukaa prowled in a wide circle around Yukiko, grief and anger etched in his gaze. Old Crea was there also, rheumy eyes filmed with white, perhaps a season from the endless sleep. And though the talesinger was the oldest and wisest arashitora alive, she obviously burned with curiosity at the whys of Buruu’s return.

  And so he came in to land, Shai gathering little Rhaii beneath her wing. Yukiko took her place beside him, grateful for his warmth. Two dozen stares were fixed on him, warriors both black and white, females, elders with faded stripes. And he planted his feet on the throne that had been his father’s, and looked at the remainder of his race. Now his to command.

  Old Crea was the first to speak, her growl hard with challenge despite her age. A monkey-child had never set foot in Everstorm, and she asked what the interloper was doing here.

  Buruu looked to Yukiko, nodded slowly. He felt her in the Kenning, reaching out amidst the pack and catching them up, pulling them into the warmth of her mind. As she spoke, her thoughts echoed inside each thunder tiger’s skull, burning with the combined strength of her mind and the ones within her. The heat of the song only she could hear. The combined fire of every living thing around her, immolating and inundating, rolling and seething.

  The Lifesong of the World.

  “My name is Kitsune Yukiko. I am yōkai-kin. Together, Buruu and I have changed the shape of Shima forever. Once we shared those islands, arashitora and human alike. And I would have it be so again. I would have you come back to us, help us reclaim the lands of your birth from the tyrants who would see them run to ashes and ruin.”

  Old Crea’s thoughts were cool, creaking like a wooden door swollen with rain.

  _ YOU ARE STORMDANCER. _

  “I am. And Buruu … the one you knew as Roahh … he is my brother.”

  _ THEN I LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO SEE LEGEND. _

  The black known as Sukaa snarled, voice echoing in the Kenning.

  ~ ARASHITORA FOLLOW STRENGTH, NOT LEGENDS. MONKEY-CHILDREN WEAK. WHY WE SAVE THEM? ~

  Buruu growled, deep in his chest.

  BECAUSE YOUR KHAN COMMANDS IT.

  ~ COMMAND WE SERVE THEM? WHAT KHAN SPEAKS SO? ~

  THE KHAN WHO SLEW YOUR FATHER, SUKAA. THE KHAN WHO WILL SLAY YOU ALSO, SHOULD YOU CONTINUE TO DEFY.

  Shai stepped forward, her bearing proud and regal, eyes locked with Sukaa.

  *I COME WITH YOU, MY KHAN.*

  Their minds rang with Sukaa’s laughter.

  ~ A FEMALE? FEMALES DO NOT FIGHT. ~

  Shai’s growl was cut short by Buruu’s voice in her mind.

  HE IS RIGHT, MY HEART. ONE BUCK MAY REPOPULATE A SPECIES. BUT WITHOUT DAMS, OUR RACE IS LOST.

  He looked among the other young females, eyes shining.

  WE CAN RISK NONE OF YOU IN THIS WAR. YOU ARE OUR FUTURE. ONLY MALES. ONLY WARRIORS.

  Shai blinked, anger burning in her eyes.

  *I YOUR MATE. I SHAKHAN OF EVERSTORM.*

  AND YOUR PLACE IS HERE. TO RULE UNTIL I RETURN.

  Sukaa growled.

  ~ WILL HAVE NO RULE. NOT IF YOU ASK THIS. ~

  I DO NOT ASK, SUKAA. I COMMAND.

  The other Morcheban blacks growled, talons scraping on sodden stone.r />
  Please, stop it, Yukiko said. There’s no need to spill more blood.

  ~ SPEAK WITH WEAKLING’S VOICE, GIRL. WEAKLING’S HEART. ~

  Weakling? You don’t know anything about me.…

  ~ COULD GUT YOU WITH A THOUGHT. ~

  Buruu roared, stepping toward Sukaa, hackles raised. Shai backed away, ushering little Rhaii with her wings, the other bucks clearing a space for the violence readying to break loose.

  I AM KHAN. I COMMAND.

  ~ WHO CLAIMS KHAN IS KHAN, KINSLAYER. ~

  THAT IS NOT MY NAME.

  ~ PREFER THE NAME MONKEY-CHILD GAVE? ~

  Stop it, Yukiko growled.

  YOU DEFY ME, SUKAA?

  ~ YOU ARE WOUNDED, MY KHAN. BLEEDING. WEAK. ~

  UTTER CHALLENGE THEN, AND SEE THE DEBT YOU OWED MY BROTHER REPAID. I WILL SEND YOUR BONES TO JOIN YOUR FATHER’S. I WILL SPLIT YOU—

  STOP IT! Yukiko roared.

  The shout echoed in the Kenning, a thousandfold thunderclap that set every thunder tiger in the aerie staggering, blinking, growls rattling in their chests. The girl stepped up to Sukaa, the black towering over her as she stared into eyes of burning emerald green.

  You call me weakling, Sukaa, son of Torr. You think me a frightened little girl. Another thought that of me, not so long ago. And I showed him his folly by ending his empire.

  Sukaa snarled, wings flaring wide. Wisps of lightning crackled at his feathers, licking the air around them with hungry tongues. He stepped closer, beak inches from the girl’s face, tail lashing like a whip.

  Yukiko didn’t flinch.

  You think me weak? You think me a frightened little girl? Then I say to you what I said to him, right before I snuffed him out like a candle.

  She spread her arms wide, closed her eyes.

  Let me show you what one little girl can do.

  Buruu felt her stepping out beyond the wall of herself into the firestorm beyond, into the seething chaos of the Lifesong. Its fury leaked through her into every one of them, the thunder tigers closing their eyes, shying away, growling and shivering. And yet she swam in it, immolated, stretching out beyond the aerie into the storm’s fury, the rush and seethe of the waves below, to the titanic warmth coiled about the base of the Everstorm isles.