Smoke in the Sun

by Renee Ahdieh

  The beat of Tsuneoki’s heart rose in his ears. Began chiming in a low hum. A shudder rolled through his chest, that same peculiar trembling taking root in him as well. Again he searched for soldiers, for samurai, for anyone who might be able to offer an explanation for the sickness plaguing this domain.

  These people were not whole. Something had clamped down on their minds and taken hold of their thoughts, its grasp unrelenting and merciless. Tsuneoki whistled for his men, this time his cry like that of a water bird, his fear sharpening the sound.

  Flee. He signaled his men. Flee this place, at once.

  As soon as he relinquished his hold on the young woman’s arm, the buzzing in his ears began dying down. But still the trembling of his body did not cease. In a flash, Tsuneoki turned his gaze to the moon, deep breaths rocking through his chest in an attempt to dispel the shuddering. With utmost control, he asked the night sky to do his bidding. It descended upon him in a rush. A cool shock of moonlight glowed through his veins. He began turning, shifting, an ice-cold fire rippling beneath his skin, his fingertips burning into tendrils of dark smoke, the demon taking shape.

  A howl passed his lips, growing more feral with each passing moment. A further warning to all those who followed his orders. Get away, while you still can. He threw his head back—leaning into the cry—and then moved forward, his black bear’s claws landing soundlessly in the soft earth.

  As soon as Tsuneoki opened the eyes of the beast he’d channeled for nearly a decade, the twitching figures around him began moving his way. He heard his men shouting beyond the wall, heard them call for Ren, who appeared to be defying his orders, as always. His animalian sight—now unencumbered by darkness—took in the lurching forms around him as they began closing in on him. Backlit by a white moon, Tsuneoki finally caught sight of what he’d sought earlier. A figure on horseback paused in the middle of the winding dirt lane to his right, watching the scene unfold as though it were part of a play.

  The rider’s features were masked by a horned helmet, but Tsuneoki recognized the unmistakable outline of a samurai. As the warrior cantered his way, the insignia of the Hattori clan—two arrows facing opposite directions—became clear.

  Beside the lone samurai’s feet strolled a ghostly fox, with yellow eyes much like Tsuneoki’s own. Beastly and unnerving. Otherworldly. A creature of magic. A creature that had sold some part of itself to gain this ability, just as Tsuneoki had. Just as Ōkami had, on a dark night many years ago, revenge feeding their choices like dried brush to a flame.

  The fox loped closer, the grin on its impish face widening. Without warning, its thoughts invaded Tsuneoki’s mind, shot across the distance with clear intent, its voice rasping and indistinct.

  Run, nightbeast. While you still can.

  No. Tsuneoki bared his own fangs, giving his wordless reply teeth.

  Run or stay and watch as I turn your men into creatures of my bidding. As I steal from you all your thoughts, your hopes, your dreams. Until you are nothing but a husk drifting about at my whim.

  Tsuneoki widened his stance, driving his heavy paws into the ground, anchoring himself to the earth. Preparing for combat. The fox stopped gliding toward him. Glittering white smoke—a preternatural mist—began swirling around its feet.

  Don’t be a fool, it said.

  Tsuneoki threw back his head and let loose a mournful bay. A howl meant to drive his men back to the forest. A howl demanding them to flee. Demanding Ren to listen and obey, for once.

  The fox’s grin broadened as it quirked its head. We are both creatures possessed by wind and sky. Honor me, and I shall honor you. Defy me, and I shall drive you—and yours—to utter ruin.

  In the shadows, the samurai on horseback continued watching. Waiting. Tsuneoki began his charge, his claws spreading into a dark fog. The fox responded in kind, the wisps of shimmering white haze spinning in lazy eddies.

  Two billowing clouds of smoke—one light and one dark—clashed together in the middle of the winding dirt lane, their figures trailing mists of magic, their bodies slamming into one another with a force that cracked through the night air. The fox was smaller, but faster. Its first gash was just below Tsuneoki’s snout, clearly aimed for his neck—a wound meant to kill rather than incapacitate. In response, Tsuneoki feigned a yelp, limping back, luring the grinning fox closer. Then he pounced, slashing into the creature with a sideswipe of his front paw, catching just below one of its front legs. The fox cried out, then locked its yellow eyes upon him. The color in their centers caught flame. A sinister sneer curled the edges of its black lips. It twisted, the smoke around it dark now instead of light.

  Before Tsuneoki could devise a plan, something ripped through his side. A flash of heat tore beneath his ribs, clamoring for his heart, its nails sharp, its bite remorseless. The clawing heat grasped for his mind, twisting and unraveling whatever it managed to uncover. It sank its fangs, trying to force him under its control, but Tsuneoki fought back. Pressed the demon’s magic away from the brink, the effort causing his sight to blur.

  With a snarl, the fox wreaked a new kind of havoc as its retribution, stealing from Tsuneoki his most treasured memories, his most secret desires.

  What began as a bear’s roar of pain faded to the cry of a young man.

  Tsuneoki landed against the damp earth with a thud, no longer a creature of magic. The wound across his torso—a slash of bleeding fire—flowed into the ground. The fiery touch of the fox burned through his skull.

  Foolish, foolish boy. The fox tsked as it floated in a circle around him. It stopped to inspect its own wound. Licked the blood from it with complete leisure.

  Yumi is her name? It smiled serenely. When I find her, your sister will pay for this.

  Marked for Life

  The emperor and his elder brother moved through the bowels of the imperial palace—a place where only the lowliest of servants trudged alongside scuttling creatures and reeking refuse. Deep in the shadows beneath a trifling excuse for a window were two single cells barred by iron doors, braced by wooden rafters. Each cell possessed a grate for waste and a floor covered in rotting straw. Nothing more.

  It was a small and spare space, but the Golden Castle did not have need of a prison beyond this. Those with the gall to offer insult to the emperor or any of his liege lords were faced with one of two punishments: death or banishment, with death culminating in any number of colorful ways: being dragged through the streets by the throat, hung upside down and drowned, stretched from the ramparts, thrown into a venomous snake pit, or—if luck was at all on the offender’s side—being simply beheaded.

  And those who were banished?

  They were marked for life.

  Roku and Raiden made their way to the cell in the far corner, with four imperial guards at their flank, and the scarred man dressed in shadowy robes still in tow, bearing the iron trunk stained with dried blood.

  Crouched against the stone wall sat an unassuming figure. A tangle of dark hair shrouded his features. His black kosode was coated in ash and blood and grime. The shifting moonlight above threw the maze of rafters into sharp relief, cutting angles across the floor beside his feet.

  “Takeda Ranmaru,” Roku began in a soft voice. “It is a great honor to finally meet you.”

  Ōkami did not move. Failed to acknowledge the greeting with even a glance.

  “On your knees, you filth,” Raiden said, his fingers twitching above the white snakeskin samegawa of his katana. “Bow before your emperor.”

  Save for a small smile, Ōkami remained seated amid the filthy straw, stretching his legs before him as though he were blissfully unaffected by Raiden’s threat.

  Roku grinned slowly. “A rather pitiful show of defiance.”

  Still no sign of a response.

  At that, Raiden nodded, silently ordering one of the imperial guards to unlock the cell.

  The emperor raised a hand to stop them, his head canted to one side. “Words of kindness do not seem to move you,” Roku mu
sed. “And my brother has already opted for intimidation. I’ve lowered myself to base insults, all in the span of only a few moments. What is left?”

  Ōkami glanced at the hooded figure hovering to one side. Studied the dark trunk clasped between the man’s bony hands, and the hungry sneer of his cracked lips. “Threats.” His response was pronounced in a cool, unhurried fashion. Though appearing at ease, his body remained carved from stone, like a somnolent mountain.

  “This is true,” Roku agreed. “Would threats work?”

  “Pain,” Ōkami continued, his gaze never once falling from the trunk.

  Roku’s smile was fierce, almost as though he relished the prospect. “Would that work? If I threatened you with pain, would you cooperate?”

  Ōkami remained unconcerned. Raiden nodded again toward the imperial guards, and the lock on the cell door unlatched with an ominous series of clicks.

  Roku sighed. “It troubles me that we cannot share a meeting of minds even on this very simple matter, Lord Ranmaru.”

  A grin coiled up one side of Ōkami’s face, accentuating a diagonal scar through his lips. “My mind exists on a mountain. Yours exists in a field. Should the mountain kneel before the field?” He bared his white teeth in a dark smile, then nodded to the straw before him. “Or will the field crawl to me?”

  “You traitorous swine.” Stepping into the cell, Raiden freed his blade from its saya with a rasp. “You will address your heavenly sovereign with respect.” His words were as sharp as a reaping scythe, his weapon raised with murderous intent.

  At that, Ōkami looked up. The moonlight sifting through the slatted window above bent as though it were reaching for him. But he remained just beyond its grasp, the scar through his lips turning silver.

  “So soon,” he murmured.

  Raiden blinked. “What?”

  “I’ve learned your weakness so soon, Prince Raiden.”

  His eyes narrowing, Raiden drew back his blade and struck the stone wall a hairsbreadth from Ōkami’s head, and a shower of golden sparks descended around them.

  “Brother …” Roku said quietly. “Patience.”

  “You yearn for respect, even in a world designed to offer it to you, without question,” Ōkami continued, his black stare unflinching. “But maybe it was withheld by someone as a child. Or perhaps you predictably despise your fate?” He lowered his voice. “Firstborn, yet destined for nothing.”

  Just as Raiden drew back his sword a second time, Roku raised his hand to silence them both. “And what is your weakness, Lord Ranmaru?” the emperor asked his prisoner.

  As expected, Ōkami did not answer.

  “Very well, then.” Roku inhaled, ever the picture of patience. “Will you answer my questions if I call you Ōkami instead? I’ve heard you prefer it. I’m willing to grant you that boon.”

  Ōkami lifted his chin. Leaned his head against the wall, his unbound hair falling from his bruised face as he met the emperor’s gaze. “You wish to know my weakness? Interesting that you would ask for it so openly. Perhaps you are not what I thought you would be.” He unfolded his palms, holding them at either side of his body, as though he concealed nothing. “Or perhaps that is exactly what you wish for me to think.”

  Roku smiled again, and the expression crinkled the corners of his eyes, marring an otherwise smooth countenance. “Perhaps you are wrong about one thing and right about another. Only through honest discourse will we know.”

  Ōkami laughed drily. “You may ask whatever you wish, But I do not owe you a response.” Easing forward, he raised a knee to rest an elbow upon it, his chains clanking.

  “Integrity,” Roku began.

  Almost imperceptibly, Ōkami’s eyes narrowed.

  Roku continued. “Courage and benevolence.”

  Though he did not lower his katana, Raiden sent a quizzical glance his younger brother’s way.

  “Respect, honesty, honor.” Roku paused. “Loyalty.”

  Ōkami shifted, the dirty straw beneath him rustling with his chains.

  The puzzlement emanating from all sides seemed to imbue the young emperor with strength, as though he enjoyed playing the role of a mystery. He stood taller, his gaze focused. “You are the son of a famous samurai. Which tenet of bushidō is your weakness?” Roku took five paces to one side of the cell before retracing his steps as though he were on an afternoon stroll. “Which of your many failings gives you fear in the dead of night?”

  Ōkami did not answer.

  “A thousand apologies.” Roku clasped his hands behind his back, his remark failing to sound the least bit apologetic. “Ōkami. The Honshō Wolf. The Dog of Jukai Forest,” the emperor said in a soft tone, the jibe nevertheless sharp. “With a kennel of filthy bitches at his back.”

  The shadows in Ōkami’s face hollowed further as his lips pressed into a frown—the first sign that the emperor’s words had any lasting effect on him.

  “Very well, then,” Roku continued. “Ōkami … I will trade my weakness for yours. I will tell you what it is I fear most, in exchange for you doing the same.”

  After a moment of silence, an amused snort followed. “I think not.”

  “You refuse to barter with your enemy?” Roku offered him yet another close-lipped smile.

  “No. I refuse to barter with you.”

  The emperor stopped his pacing and turned in place to meet the eyes of his prisoner. “I’ve heard many say your father was the same kind of willful man. It cost him his life, though it gained him nothing. My father often remarked that Lord Shingen was the greatest of all fools. One who thought principle was of more value than action.”

  “Insulting my father will not provoke a response from me, nor will trading smiles as though we are old friends. I expected better of you, Minamoto Roku.” Ōkami returned the same thin smile, irony curling its edges. “Why don’t you just kill me? That’s what your father would do. That’s all that men of your ilk know how to do when faced with a challenge.” He crossed his arms. “Kill me and be done with it.” His tone turned mocking. “Then you can rule the Empire of Wa unchecked, like a true leader. Is that not your dream, Roku-chan? To remain an unchecked child for all time?”

  A roar of fury flew from Raiden’s lips at the insult to his younger brother. To his emperor. Raiden balled his armored fingers into a fist and levied a backhanded blow to Ōkami that sent the latter reeling into the greying straw.

  As his elder brother kicked their prisoner in the chest, Roku waited patiently, an odd look of bemusement settling onto his features.

  His face seething with hatred, Raiden continued raining blows on Ōkami until Roku lifted a hand, directing his brother to cease. Ōkami spat blood into the straw and took in a wheezing breath before pushing back onto his heels. He coughed to clear his throat. Then he paused to stare up at the emperor, the signs of lingering humor at odds with his broken, bloodied face. “It appears insults do have an effect on your brother. How predictable.”

  “Insults are indeed a base form of intimidation,” Roku replied, not seeming to care about the slight tossed his brother’s way in the process. “I agree they are the least effective in situations like this. But it is not often that I encounter a foe of a similar mind.” He gestured for the shadowy man holding the trunk to step forward. “And since we agree on these matters, there’s no need to waste time on such baser means of intimidation.”

  Ōkami did not balk. “I am not afraid of pain.”

  The smile that spread across the emperor’s face began with an unnerving kind of sweetness. It widened into something wicked, tinging the air with an oddly saccharine scent. “But I am not talking about your pain, Ōkami.”

  For a moment, he was met once more with silence. Then Ōkami leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You have nothing to gain from harming any of the men unfortunate enough to call me friend.”

  “I will be the judge of that.” Roku resumed his pacing. “Any man unfortunate enough to call you friend would also be unfortunate e
nough to possess vital information.”

  “What information?” Ōkami laughed cuttingly. “Do you wish to know upon which rock I lay my head in the forest? Or perhaps it is important for you to learn how I prefer my tea.”

  “Or maybe I wish to know how you enjoy your meals,” Roku said. “I’ve heard your cook was quite excellent—a relic of your father’s household, was he not? A shame I could not meet him. I’ve been searching for loyal servants. But, alas, I’ve heard this particular servant will be of service to no one.” A deliberate pause. “Ever again.”

  This time, the silence that took shape around them was different. Weightier, a low hum gathering in the air. “It would not have made a difference if he were here,” Ōkami said, his words dangerous in their control. “Yoshi would not have said anything to you.”

  Roku lifted a finger to emphasize his point. “That may be true. But I am remiss. There is no need to resurrect dead cooks. We have in our possession—at this very moment—someone who could answer all these questions and more. Someone far more … pliant.”

  “Ah, of course.” Ōkami lowered his head, letting his hair veil his features once more. “The feckless daughter of Hattori Kano. This should prove amusing.”

  Roku glanced his brother’s way. “Brother,” he began, “your bride lived alongside all these men, no?”

  His expression souring, Raiden sheathed his blade. “My bride? I have no intention of taking that dirty sparrow to wi—”

  “Nonsense.” The emperor whirled in place, the hem of his lustrous silk robe dragging through the grime. “We cannot go back on our word. Nor can we ignore the last wishes of our esteemed father.”

  Raiden inhaled with distaste. “Even if the goods have been sullied beyond repair?”

  Though he snorted in amusement, the chains near Ōkami’s fists clanked softly.