Ten Years Later.

Kagami’s eyes focused down on the blunted wooden tip of the practice sword Amagi was holding, following the edge all the way down to her pale hands. She gripped down on the hilt of her own wooden sword and tried to imagine when and how the attack would come. Kagami had been in many bouts just like this and there was always something about her opponent that spoke to her. Their hands and feet showed their intentions, but more often than not it was their eyes that gave them away. By the time they arrived into their own imagined future, Kagami would be there waiting for them. She had developed this sense out of necessity. The problem with fighting Amagi was two-fold. Neither Amagi’s eyes, nor her hands, nor her sword had anything to say about what was going to happen. It had always been like that. The other problem was her speed. Kagami could not predict what would happen and wasn’t fast enough to stop it when it did.

She searched Amagi’s brown eyes once more, in vain. Kagami imagined herself in the old mossy garden on a warm, quiet summer evening. Amagi emerged from the house with a couple glasses of iced tea, a Western concoction, then eagerly pressed it on a reluctant but ultimately grateful Kagami. That was the feeling she got from Amagi. Kagami wondered: had she really achieved zen? Could she not sense future thoughts within the girl because they weren’t even there to start? She was a Buddhist, after all. She shook off the reverie, which must have lasted only a fraction of a second, and breathed in sharply through her nose. Not a moment too soon, either.

Amagi opened with a thrusting feint and Kagami saw the wooden blade come whistling in from low and to the left. They had fought a hundred times and Kagami was always taken aback at the speed of Amagi’s first strike. If Kagami could whether the openings, the parries and ripostes, without exhausting herself, she might take the win. She needed something more than that tired strategy. Was victory within herself, or without? If it were within, she would know it already. The terrain, then. It was just a room, though. No high ground or cover. Victory wasn’t in the room. If it wasn’t inside her, wasn’t in the room, it had to be beyond. Beyond the room were the forests on the outskirts of Edo, beyond that the mountains and temples, the grass sea and Celes, the ends of the earth, and then Heaven. She parried Amagi’s blow and went in for a riposte, which was turned away. The exchange over, both of them drew back momentarily.

Kagami pressed forward in a series of harassing attacks, each of which Amagi had no trouble swatting aside. Kagami was forced to withdraw, breathing heavily, her brow shining with sweat. Amagi was still serene as if she could go directly from here to the theater. Normally this pattern indicated an easy victory for Amagi, and soon. It must have looked to the crowd of students that she had become desperate and was going to lose. Amagi let Kagami catch her breath for a moment and then leapt forward. Kagami simply faded away, dodging to the rear.

She faded away three more times, at which point Kagami had run out of room and had nowhere left to retreat to. There was a murmuring of interest in the crowd of students watching. Reaching behind her, Kagami quickly put her fingers on the edge of the sliding door at her back and threw it to the side. Amagi squinted at the sudden radiance of early morning sun from the outside, and in the next instant she found the blade of Kagami’s wooden sword resting on her slender neck.

After recovering from her shock Amagi smiled and dropped the wooden sword, which landed on the floorboard with a clack. Kagami turned towards the sun behind her, then bowed deeply.

The master of the dojo, a wiry older gentleman, stepped in front of his students and gestured to the duelists.

“Some of you are thinking ‘Amagi deserved to win’ or something along those lines. You especially need to think long and hard about what happened and what you would have done in her place.” the master said.

“I could barely follow it.” one student sheepishly admitted. Amagi walked over, with Kagami following behind.

“Kagami and I,” Amagi said, “have been exposed to a pure form of Sol from a young age. We are stronger and faster than we otherwise would be.”

“Ah,” the student said, “I’d like to get my hands on that.”

There was a general murmur of good-natured agreement among the students, who were all boys or, at most, young men. Besides the master, Kagami and Amagi at 18 were the oldest there.

“I recommend against it.” Kagami said. Amagi turned to the curious student.

“Sol is a strong poison in its pure state.”

Amagi approached Kagami after the bout. She had changed out of the practice hakama and into a Western style dress. A white, wide brimmed hat kept the sun out of her eyes.

Everyone who was anyone was wearing things like that, now, only ten years after the shame at Kanagawa. Kagami carried a slatted parasol and wore a powder blue yukata. The streets of Edo were among the safest in the world, but Kagami still carried a short sword everywhere.

The most recent in a long line of one-sided treaties had put limits on the military use of Sol. Yamato, of course, wound up with the short stick. The shortest part of the stick fell upon her and Tosa, who each had to give up their dreams of becoming knights. It was an outrage from the West and a betrayal from her own government. A body might acclimate itself to hunger or pain, to boredom or a hundred other sensations and feelings, but the unique pain of humiliation was not something one got used to. Humiliation accumulated, coalesced, gathered, waited.

Amagi ran her thumb and forefinger along the brim of her white hat and gave Kagami a glittering smile.

“I’m going to the armory to view an example of the new weapons which will be fashioned for my brother and I. They’re guns.” Amagi said. Kagami knitted her brow.

“Guns are a waste of Sol. Loud, inaccurate, smelly. No wonder Columbians are so fond of them.” Kagami said.

“These are Britannian, and supposedly are a marked improvement on past designs.” Amagi said. Kagami gave a sigh. Amagi bit her lip and it was quiet between them as they walked down the stone cobble of the narrow street.

“There are many ways you and your brother can serve the country, still.” Amagi said.

“My brother and I trained long and hard. So did you and Akagi, but at least you still get to fight.” Kagami said, looking down at the ground.

“Kagami-” Amagi said, before being interrupted in turn.

“Amagi, trade places with me. I know you don’t want to fight.” Kagami said.

“Who told you that?” Amagi said.

“You did,” Kagami said, “In our match, with your eyes.”

Amagi smiled and breathed out sharply with her nose, and shook her head.

“You’ve always had sharp eyes.” Amagi said.

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“So what’s the issue? You don’t want to fight, I do.” Kagami said. “All those things you claim to want for me, like becoming a good wife or serving the country—you actually want them for yourself, don’t you?” Kagami said.

“I do, of course. I want them for you too. I want you to be happy.”

“If we traded places, wouldn’t we both be happy?”

Amagi paused.

“It’s a lovely day out, isn’t it, Kaga? With a warm sun and a cool breeze. The trees are just about to turn, I think.” she said.

“It’s a bit cold for my taste.”

“One of the things I like about you is how direct you are. You know the Columbians are like that.”

Kagami struggled with how to respond and Amagi, for her part, simply drank up the consternation playing across her features, clear for anyone to see.

“I like your honest face, too.” Amagi said.

The armory was a fortress-like structure just outside of the grounds of Edo Castle. It was within that castle that the ill-fated Shogun had, ten years prior, arranged for the destruction of his own people. It was surrounded by a high stone wall and had a single arched entrance with a steel gate stretched across it. A pair of armored guards were outside, and another matching pair inside. Kagami and Amagi were recognized on sight and didn’t have to speak a word to gain entry.

In an inner chamber they met with an unfamiliar man. He was, like them, from Yamato, with black hair and dark brown eyes. He had a thin frame and his back had a little bend to it, and his face was strongly lined and tanned. In a crowd he would not seem out of place, but next to the princess-like Amagi he came off as something of a goblin. Kagami declined to think about what sort of figure she cut in the same comparison. When he saw the pair of them enter he brightened and hustled over, presenting himself before them.

“Welcome Miss Amagi, Miss Kagami. I’m the imperial gunsmith, Takeshita.” he said, with a deep bow. They returned it in a more subdued fashion. Takeshita pushed a lacquerware box on the large wooden work table in the center of the room to the fore, and then opened it. Within it were a pair of revolver-style weapons. The fabled guns.

“I didn’t know we had a gunsmith.” Kagami said dubiously.

“The Union put provisions in the treaty that allowed the manufacture of Sol weapons, which they had to extend to us.” Takeshita said.

“You were trained in Columbia?” Kagami said.

“Britannia, in truth.” he said. Amagi stepped forward and lifted the revolver out of the box. It was a dull gray, with a handle of black wood.

“Hmm.” Amagi said. Kagami picked up the other one and switched it from one hand to the other.

“I hope it shoots better than it looks and feels.” Kagami said. Takeshita coughed a few times and smiled sheepishly.

“That’s very funny.” he said. “I passed through the Union on the way here and that’s exactly what Lady Lex said when I showed them to her.”

Amagi looked at Kagami with raised eyebrows, then turned back to the gunsmith. He gestured to the weapon in Amagi’s hand.

“This is a copy of a Britannian design. Still, it’s more than enough to put anything short of a knight in the ground.” Takeshita said. Kagami looked off to the side. “These are just to get us started. There will be many more iterations. This pair is going to Miss Hoshou for testing and a second copy will be made post-haste for Miss Amagi, based on the suggestions.”

“I’ve seen my fill. Amagi.” Kagami said. “I’ll have to leave early. I’m going to take the train to Kanagawa.”

It felt so unusual to say that so casually. The train.

“How is Tosa?”

“He’s doing well,” Kagami said, which was a lie, “Just getting some fresh air in the countryside.”

—

Kagami knelt beside the futon her Tosa was laid out on. His skin had a gray cast to it, and black spidery veins ran up his neck from his chest. Kagami leaned foward and daubed off the sweat which had accumulated on his forehead.

“It’s just a bad day. You’ve had plenty of those.” Kagami reassured him. Tosa shook his head and grimaced. “Sol withdraw shouldn’t be fatal. You’ll get better soon enough, and you’ll tend to me when my time comes to endure the same.”

“You don’t have to stay with me. I have help.” Tosa said. He began to shiver, and Kagami laid a hand on his chest. It seemed to help a little.

“If I don’t stay, why would you, when we soon trade places?” Kagami said. Tosa laughed, though it was clear it wasn’t a purely pleasurable experience for him.

“You’ll sail through it, sister. I’m not sure about me. I feel weak.” Tosa said. Kagami furrowed her brow.

“I could get you something to eat. Are you hungry?” Kagami said.

“No, sister. I don’t mean a weakness of body.” he said. Kagami understood.

“We’ve spoken of all of this before, Tosa. You know I agree with you. That’s why I followed you since childhood, to free our country and the world.” Kagami said.

“Kagami, someone has to stop them. The red-hairs.”

Kagami looked off to the side.

“You already know I agree.”

“Then promise me you will, even without me.”

“You’re being so dramatic, brother.”

“Just promise me.”

“Yes. I will free us.”

“Sol.” Tosa practically spat out the world. “Is a poison. We should never have let it pollute us.”

“If we hadn’t, though, we’d be in the same position as Celes.” Kagami said.

“I know. I just hope that there is a day in the future when the world is rid of it. We were better off not knowing. When we fought, we fought as men. When we sinned, we sinned as men. Now…” Tosa said.

“Is Sol really different from a sword, or any other kind of weapon? How sharp does a sword become until it is monstrous?” Kagami said, “Should we all fight hand to hand, without tools, like animals? Would that be most human?”

Tosa had another painful laugh.

“Sister you always know just what to say to raise my spirits. A world where men fought hand to hand. If I sleep now, I wonder if I could see it as a dream?”

“My brother dreams of being a monkey. Oh, this should cheer you up. I beat Amagi in a bout this morning.” Kagami said. Tosa raised his eyebrows.

“You beat Amagi. Was it fair, or with a trick?”

“If you want to see Amagi beaten fairly, do it yourself.”

Tosa fell into a series of coughs, to which he appended weakly: “Let me at her. Just give me a cup of water, first.”

When Kagami returned with the water he was still.

She tried every method she knew to revive him. Hours later, in the middle of the night, she was still sitting at his side in stoic silence when a military doctor showed up to examine the body. He carried an oil lamp into the room. He reminded her of her father from her earliest memories: an unassuming man in his late 30s with a rapidly receding widow’s peak. This one had also a pair of spectacles. Her father, who she remembered squinting close at all printed material, might have benefited from something similar.

“There was nothing you could do.” he said. It was as empty a sentiment as it got, which was impressive in a country so full of them.

“Thank you. I can handle everything from here, doctor.” she said. The doctor paused.

“This is a delicate matter, but we would like to examine the remains, to learn more about the effect of Sol on the body, and the cause of his death.” he said. Kagami set her teeth into a grimace at the news that they’d planned to contaminate and desecrate his body. If the order came from above, though, it was pointless to argue.

“If you think something will come of that. Do as you wish.” she said. “Leave us alone for a moment.”

The doctor nodded and shuffled out, walking backwards and closing the sliding door. She crept forward in the light of the oil lamp, which was warm and red like the morning sun, and looked over the face of her brother. She whispered to him, not wanting anyone outside to hear. She began to cry and her tears dropped down onto his chest, though her voice was even.

“Victory isn’t within me, brother. Follow me, though, I know where it is.”