Jukaiho was the largest and densest of woodlands in Forest province, and in all Egaisha. There was a long history of bloodshed here, one that stretched back into the days of Kozuku, the first Emperor. He was an historical figure, always an enigma to Empress Isao Naji, when she compared his person to that of the previous Empress, Ei. A man of overwhelming power and authority who threw it all away to become a monk. Naji didn’t fault him for it; he’d left his mark on the world in a way Ei never could.

The air was crisp and cold, biting at the brittle evergreen trees; a Wailstorm was forming here. The weather was invariably bitter up north, but one always perceived the mark of a Wailstorm. When the spirit realm tore into the physical, Naji could sense it with every fiber of her being. That was when they, the Kiru, gathered in droves, often invisible to the naked eye. But not to her.

Not far from the Budding Temple of the Floating Lotus, which was only a few leagues from here, stood Gei watchtower; it rose thirty feet above the Empress and her company, half that of the sprawling trees around them.

The tower was small compared to the temple hidden nearby. It was two stories, with few embellishments. Originally constructed during the Haijin, the tower was one of the first keeps built in the empire, before this land was absorbed as an extension to Hikotonagara, the original land of the empire. In times far past, it had been a watchtower for Garaatsu, current day Forest province, to keep invaders from Hikotonagara at bay. Presently, Lord Deijou waited inside.

Empress Naji was no longer resting upon her palanquin, a black lacquered wooden box painted with artful patterns of purple. It was carried by two soldiers from a long wood beam fixed to the top of the sitting box, and inside, next to the compact cushioned seat, was a single window, covered with silk gauze so that its passenger was able to see through without being seen themselves. Now she walked with her ordained attendants through Jukaiho forest and up a dry path. Such was not expected of her, for the very ground that touched her feet was considered hallowed. When riding her palanquin, an elaborate formation of soldiers surrounded her; three men in front and four men behind her. Once she was on her feet, they formed a perfect circle around her, each purple armor-clad Jodai keeping at a distance of five paces from her. In the old days, three Ginju guarded the Sovereign wherever she went.

Her Veil stood at the very front of her, five paces ahead of the Jodai. His identity was cloaked in all white robes with a veil of mesh covering his face, clipped to exhibit only his mouth. The hood of his robe was tight around the head, and the long veil was buttoned with gold beads to the sides of the hood hanging to his chin. In his hands, a long and slender bamboo trumpet. He raised the instrument to his lips and blew from it a deafening sound, echoing across the trees, like the far reaching cry of a great docile beast. This was their agreed upon time with Lord Deijou. Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t have bothered coming here had it not been for the Wailstorm. She felt them wherever and whenever they formed throughout the continent.

Of course, these were not normal circumstances.

The two great doors of the Gei tower dragged open. Deijou emerged from the tower, an old crone with a drooping face so wrinkled, he appeared at least a century old. He was ninety-three. The High Lord fell to his feet at the sight of her, clasping his hands dramatically together in a staunch bow, frail body trembling as his knees buckled. It was a feat of the human form for one so old as him to complete the movement so quickly and without painful resistance from age. Part of Naji frequently found the deference tiresome, a small part of her which she had long subdued to follow her path, her sacred duty. Unwavering reverence for the Empress was called for and necessary.

The Sovereign was expected to be perched atop her palanquin at all times when outside the palace, but something about being so close to her subjects, seeing the meekness and fragility of their frame right in front of her, it helped her empathize and understand their minds, their impulses, their values, motives, and inspirations, their world. Knowing that was uketsu, the state of being that governed her empire.

Deijou commanded no guards, as instructed. A meeting alone with the Empress might cause his clan to worry for him, were it not for her well-known good standing with them.

Naji opened her mouth in a smile, the lilt of her voice seeping out as sweetly as blossoms and honey. “Stand, and lead us inside.”

There was a jolt in the old man’s bones, held together by blemished and leathery skin, as if not expecting to hear her speak. “I am nothing, Sovereign. Your will be done.”

Without a word, he rose, and in the same movement, had his back facing her as he retreated inside. The Veil was the first to follow, trumpet clutched at his side. Empress Naji followed next, layered, bulky robes of purple trailing twenty paces behind.

Inside was barren. The tower did not see much use anymore. Deijou took measured steps forward, turning and dropping again to his knees without so much as a look toward the Empress, whose robetail was inevitably caught in the doorway.

“How does your family fare, Lord Deijou?” Naji stood a mere ten paces away from him. Never in his life had he been so close to near divinity, yet he still dared not look up when answering.

“They are well, Your Sovereign. Your…” he swallowed ungraciously, “…humble servant and his clan have done well as our timber industries continue to prosper.”

Of all her vassals throughout the empire, Naji held a certain respect for Deijou, a blend of admiration and endearment. Perhaps her motherly instincts had latched onto him, despite appearing to be less than a third of his age. It seemed her youth would still adorn her well into her seventies.

Forest province had consistently remained mostly harmonious during her reign. She knew most of the intricacies of Deijou’s clan and those clans under his rule, but liked to ask questions, to speak with a guile and subtlety that kept her listeners always filled with fear of admonishment and anticipation for praise.

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“The Mizonu clan’s rule goes back generations, and you have been its longest living lord,” she said. “You’ve seen times of strife and times of peace. You’ve gained wisdom and have used it to cultivate one of the few High Clans in the empire without dysfunction or fierce competition. You can attribute a generous amount of luck to that as well. Tell me, what are your feelings concerning the rebellious laborers further north?”

“They make for troubling times, Your Sovereign.”

Naji nodded, a shallow dip of her small, pointed chin, with skin as perfect as porcelain. “You are right to be cautious, even fearful of laborers in your own province. Violence between the classes hasn't been seen in a long time, not to this extent since before even you were born.” Before even I was born. She may have been the Empress, but Deijou eclipsed her in age, and she figured she might be able to glean something from him, even if he was a failed lord. She paused, then asked, “Do you think these laborers are doing right?”

The lord struggled with the question, visibly working an answer through small, twitchy movements of his hands and head. Finally, “They have forgotten their place.”

Naji nodded again. “They should be appreciative, especially with the courtesy they are afforded here. High and lowborns in the south lack the comradery of the north. However, your excessive measures, placing the labor class under stiff supervision and enforcing strict and common punishment, was less than an intelligent decision. In fact, I have observed that you’ve only worsened the situation, which in turn affects the empire.”

Forest province, while normally socially stable, was heavily influenced by Mountain province, their largest importer of timber. Commoners inspired by the insurgents of Mountain and Twilight would disrupt the economy, with the potential of mass bloodshed. But Naji saw what Deijou didn’t, and knew the difference between being reactive and proactive. Placing herself in his own field of view, she saw he was being too strict, too harsh and quick to quell a potential uprising.

The man fought to keep his mouth shut, and trembled. Her spiritual pressure naturally had that effect. She continued. “Such a miscalculation alone would not have earned you this summoning. You’ve also sent very few Jodai offerings to the Tarshani battlefront by bribing my imperial official. Your heart is troubled, and you worry for the future stability of your own province to the point of forsaking your own Empress. Did you think I wouldn’t catch on? In a time where Mountain and Twilight cannot afford to break off much of their forces, you’ve further impeded our war efforts.”

Deijou’s body stiffened, tensing with such sudden rigidness that he might be holding his breath. Naji relaxed the spiritual pressure emanating from her. Only a bit.

“At no point has your loyalty to me wavered since you became High Lord. You’re old now. Your sons and daughters, though they shake at the thought of it, are more than capable of directing this province into peace. They go along with your decisions, because they trust you. With a little positive encouragement, they will relax the oppression you have placed upon the commonblood.

“Even my official had to pay the price for his betrayal, as much as I adored him. It will have to be no different for you. You’ll have died by a natural accident, failure of the heart, on your way to meet with me. That way, there’ll have been no bloodshed prior to the establishment of the new High Lord, or perhaps a High Lady.”

Naji made her way towards him, his body jerking with each soft step. “Look at me.”

Still kneeling, he did so, eyes meeting hers. Eyes full of quiet dread, and bold acceptance. “Your will be done, my Sovereign.”

For the first time in recent memory, Naji spoke with a grain of sympathy on her tongue. “You will die with honor this way.”

A Jodai grabbed Deijou from behind, hooking his inner elbow around the old man’s throat. The man let out a startled choke, then a hacking cough as he struggled weakly against the soldier’s iron-clad grip. He kicked out until his legs had no more life in them, and his entire frame went limp. The Jodai let him down gently, eyes turned away from the Empress.

“If it will accomplish anything, I’ll give you a public ceremony, and I’ll attend myself.” She took one last look at his limp form, then turned to the door through which they came.

Every man within the room was kneeling behind her, with the exception of her Veil. There was always a lingering fear that one of them could be next. The winds outdoors were louder than before, beating audibly against the trees. “I will be outside until the storm has passed. Keep yourselves warm and comfortable.”

She opened the door herself, stepping into air that had turned bitterly cold in an unnaturally short span. Mists manifested from thin air, slithering across the cracked forest floor. In the background, or in the distance from some indeterminable origin, came the first, low wail, almost indistinguishable from the winds that had begun to howl through the branches.

Now that the situation could be mitigated in Forest, she would have to turn her focus on Forgery. According to the words of imperial messengers visiting the outskirts of the province, Yomenuura Sen was still living, and further, had been instated as its High Lord. She’d been foolish to assume his defeat after unleashing her previous Veil, though his triumph against it nonetheless stunned her. Foolish and prideful. Had she aided Ueko’s forces herself, events would have turned out differently. It seemed the Ginju of the south were more proficient with their abilities than she had assumed.

She would need to deal with him in a tactful way. The conquest of Tarshan was too important to risk maiming her own empire. The fact that soldiers of Forgery and the Ginju of four provinces had defied her, stood against her so brazenly, she had to admit, was troublesome. She would nip it in the bud before it became out of hand, sometime years or decades into the future.

The Ginju should have never been forfeited as property of the provinces. That had been a mistake made generations ago, but it was Naji who had to face the consequences.

She clenched her teeth in frustration, unsure how she would deal with such burdens, but she would deal with it, as she always had. The storm’s formation was complete, now sweeping its terror across forest trees made invisible by churning fogs that might turn blood to ice. White despair blanketed the air, suffocating, like a lamenting mother clenching a cold and wet rag to the face of a helpless babe.

Naji felt the spirits all around. Compassionate, yet angry and pitiful things. She let the vitality deep within her rise, awaken. It bubbled up from its infinite depths, bright as the sun, but warm and wholesome and sensually caressing. Blinding, full and boundless, with a barely perceptible urge of its own to spread out and expand endlessly. A white aura radiated from her frame, her body its veil. She would snuff out these flames of rebellion rising in the south soon enough, but for now, she would harvest the storm.