Takasa Shozhu was the last clan member of his generation. Of course, save for that smug bastard, Arusuke, who lagged five years behind him at age thirty-nine, clinging on to his last year of youth with not yet a hint of gray stubble. Shozhu’s own ungraciously long life was not at all a blessing, but a curse. He still got urges to spit at his brother’s feet when he showed deference.
The unblessed of his siblings had fought for the title of heir barely out of their teen years, while their father lied on the cusp of passing. Arusuke, perhaps the most cut-throat of any of them, naturally triumphed. The two others of Shozhu’s ilk had perished nearly fifteen years ago. Naturally. One had to accept that the increased strain placed on their bodies would lead to declining health.
He supposed the fact that none of them tried to stab each other through their youth could be considered a miracle.
The castle room in which he waited patiently was barren and lit by a single candle, its shadowy silhouette prancing across the floor. In the air, there was incense freshly burned, bringing him back to his days as a youth. The world had been a better place back then, simpler. The youth had been stronger. More resilient. Any youth he knew today would not have survived in his era. Least of all Arusuke’s brat, Kitani.
None of the youth back then had been complacent. One had to be hungry. That hunger he carried with him for decades still ate at him from the inside. There was an appetite in him that could never be satiated. Most days it ached.
The sliding screen across from where he sat rattled. They’d arrived.
“You may enter,” Shozhu said.
The two young rodents he called his students stepped in and took to their knees. He regarded Aiya. A pretty girl, silky black hair and symmetrical features, with a kind yet sincere face that made her appear studious, sensible, strong. Were she not his brother, she’d make good arm candy at Kitani’s side, and an excellent First Lady of the clan. A shame her Ginju status meant she’d never marry, and an even bigger shame her proficiency with the river lacked in comparison to her brothers.
Koji. That one possessed a greater air of authority, yet appeared more amiable than was proper for a member of a High Clan. Worse was his indulgence in an unbecoming habit, his secret fascination for writing romantic poetry, an odd trait for a warrior. Ira was a failure by default, a cursed sickly child. All three shared inadequacy, yet were so dissimilar in appearance, as sometimes occurred with siblings. How naive these two were. That Arusuke could be as spiteful as Shozhu himself.
Aiya held a beige sack, dropping it to the ground, eyes forward. “For his lordship, an enemy delivered, for the Takasa clan, and then for River.”
“Well done,” Shozhu said, stroking at his long beard. “I trust your own eyesight to be better than mine.”
He grabbed the sack and began to unwrap it. Not as wet as he expected it to be. They’d taken time to let the blood deplete after chopping away his neck. He removed the head. That disgusting face, cold, pale and dead. Owa had finally gotten his turn of chaos, silenced. Satisfied, Shozhu pushed it back into the sack. “Survivors?”
Aiya kept her eyes forward. “None.”
There was darkened cloth around her arm.
Shozhu nodded. Aiya and Koji released themselves from their position, sitting on their heels a few feet away from him. There was something to be said of the smell of death, of spilled blood, so strong it seeped into his nostrils through the smoky incense. It kept the spirit hardened. His soul never tired of it.
“Well done. Your father will be pleased when he wakes in the morning. That cleared, his lordship had an unexpected surprise for us this morning. An hour past noon, there will be a public meeting held in the square. We’re to attend the grounds for diplomatic relations with Forgery. I wish I’d foreseen the short notice, but I myself was just told this morning. Apparently, Lord Arusuke and Forgery have been engaged in secret discussions until now.”
Surprise marked their faces, which quickly morphed into suspicion. Koji spoke. “Master, if I recall, Forgery has been involved in civil conflict for the past four months now.”
“You’d be right to suspect the meeting will concern requested aid,” Shozhu replied. He set the sack to the side. “But we shall see soon enough. Owa’s demise will simply send more shockwaves through the nobility than previous assassinations. Like always, other families will be wary of us, especially second-class clans. Act as if nothing has changed. We want a healthy fear for our name, not the impression of merciless tyrants.”
“Understood,” Koji replied, “we’ll get Ira ready.”
Shozhu made a sour face at his mention. “Hmph. Off you go then.”
* * *
Lord Takasa Arusuke breathed light and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. His body felt heavy in the futon he shared with his wife, where he’d been woken by the feathers of dawn falling through the window. It was amazing how soundly he slept on nights like the one just passed. Nights in which his clan silenced those who would oppose him. He supposed he slept so soundly because he had succeeded in silencing them so many times, no matter their relation to him. Arusuke took whatever he wanted, as great men did, to the scorn of the weak. It was why he was here now, carrying on his father’s legacy.
Sometimes he wondered if this province was all he was ever meant to rule.
As he slipped from his sheets, the rustle of Uaya’s movement stole his attention. “Does something trouble you, my dear?”
She was a worrier, Uaya, ever since he’d snatched her from the Kayumi clan nearly two decades ago. She worried that Yuuki or Ari might one day be caught in a Wailstorm if they weren’t careful, worried about the quality of plays being produced at the Oto theater, and lost sleep over a gnat’s wing.
The High Lord often wondered how a man of ambition like himself ended up with a woman so fretful, and yet at the same time so devoted and strong-willed, so juxtaposed. She’d worried incessantly about her mortality before giving birth, convinced she would not have the strength to bear his strong, noble heir. It was part of the reason he’d not given her a child for the first seven years after their consummation, though that was not the half of it. He wanted blessed children of age, Ginju, first and foremost. It was tradition they begin commitment towards their deity at the age of seven. Arusuke refused to rely on the likes of Ippei and Toyozo, who’d manage to drunkenly kill each other over a small feud in the courtyard when Koji had been only three, though the older Ginju had shared his disdain while alive; the old fools, including that miserable Shozhu, would not be so willing to do their High Lord’s bidding once he could raise dogs of his own. As the young new ruler of River province, that left him with only the empty threat of Ginju for his enemies. Though the fear Ginju inspired was never forgotten, their last deployment against the subjugated clans rested in the days of his father’s early rule; he’d killed his way onto the throne by the Empress’ ordination, which was long enough ago that fear could distort into contempt, and contempt into grandiose aspirations of treachery.
“Not at all, my love. I’m off to celebrate.” He pressed his lips to hers reassuringly before departing.
No substitute for a celebratory drink on a morning like this. A morning of enemies vanquished. He left the room and came to another two doors down the hallway. His private study. When he opened the door, Aiya was waiting for him near the only table. She sat on her knees in tight black silks, facing the tall vessel of sake perched on the table’s opposite side. Their eyes met.
She wouldn’t dare speak before he did, so he said, “Shozhu must have cracked his other leg and fallen to bowel sickness.”
“Father, forgive my impertinence…what you asked has been done. The Hebi clan is no more.”
“I assume so, otherwise you’d have the dignity not to show yourself.”
His daughter looked as if she was fighting something with her tongue, lips held tight in suspense. “There were children.”
He didn’t expect her to share his disposition towards swift castigation, it was better she didn’t. Still, to be so affected as to bother him like this….
“He sacrificed them without a fight,” she continued, quieter.
Arusuke poured sake himself in a small cup, then took it in one gulp. Its warmth immediately filled his chest. For himself, a cup was more refreshing than a cool stream of water in his throat on a summer’s day. Slipping into displeasure became less grating, and he became resolute, more adamant, his wit replaced with an eagerness to reprimand any heads raised too high, and for any failure of duty. It was as a High Lord should be.
He scowled. Even Koji would probably not do as his eldest daughter did now; he likely couldn’t. Not without losing his face and dishonoring himself by lashing out with disrespect. That one sometimes lacked control over his temper, often through vicious subtlety. Of course, to go against their father, their High Lord, even as Ginju, would be to go against the Empress herself, to damn their souls to the storms. Threats of the afterlife were never enough to control the actions of the Erru, or any man for that matter, but even slight deterrents should not be overestimated.
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More important was to cultivate the personality of a tough father figure, for kin and nonkin alike. Family was honor, and honor the adherence to family. Words from the Old Kingdom. His father’s words.
“That’s to be expected from such a clan. I’d have fought tooth and nail for Kitani, or Yuuki or Ari.” Her exclusion was cruel, but they were best kept at an arm’s distance. Part of him relished it. “You’ve done well.”
Her hand went over the tear on her bicep, grisly red flesh mangled with the black fabric. He hadn’t noticed it until now. How had that happened? For all their power, they were quick to show weakness, cowardice. Had only Arusuke been blessed as a newborn by the Empress, been taught their ferocious art by his father’s brothers, he’d inspire fear in his enemies such that none would think to challenge him in a thousand generations.
“I was a year less than Koji when I became High Lord,” he reminded her. “Do you think excessive generosity afforded you those nice silks, held this estate to our name? Leave me be, for today is a day of celebration. Later we will engage in a more peaceful discourse with a lordling of Forgery, if Shozhu has not already told you.”
She got up to remove herself, and no sooner did the door slide open again, only for Uesaka Sano to enter with an obligatory bow. A man his own age with a tense face, small eyes set lightly in their sockets, eyes that had delicately watched his clan’s investments for so long. They passed over Aiya, who glanced at him with a guarded posture, holding her head high before excusing herself from the room. Arusuke beamed. Far better. Someone not prone to spoil the day’s events.
“Even I can admit it is right to be drinking on such a morning,” said Arusuke’s closest retainer, “though your wife would have me say otherwise. She was disappointed all those years ago to discover your love for rice wine.”
“Familiarity breeds contempt, and children.” He took another swig. The vessel weighed lighter than it should have. A shame. “She was no stranger to it herself when we first met. But I’d rather focus on the prospects of the future.”
“By that you do not mean some alliance with the lordling.”
Now that Owa’s voice was quelled, he could exercise Takasa clan authority more smoothly. Sano knew him well.
“What provincial matter do you bring to me?”
A former Jodai and current seat on the council of judges, Sano brought those concerning and most widespread issues to him directly. “This silencing won't quell the rebellion down south.”
Predictable. For all his astuteness, Sano could sometimes display an unhealthy obsession with Kotonese, neglecting the far more immediate menace of the highborn.
Before Owa’s extinction, the River High Lord was understandably crossed. Imperial tax collectors from Rain came to bleed River dry, year by year. Commoners, naturally, carried the tax burden, namely those in the fishing trade as River’s largest industry. Arusuke’s father had been ordained High Lord, and it was more accurate to say the burden of taxes rested on the nobility, for it was they who were at risk of being thrown into a storm come summer. If the quota isn’t reached, we’ll be the ones to freeze.
The past year presented a record low yield of fish, not helped by filthy mobs of protesting Kotonese fishermen. Suffice to say, profits were inadequate. Lord Arusuke would have nobles pay the difference. Coin would come quicker that way. Lord Hebi Owa, a military land governor, vocalized his disdain for raised taxes. Considering his wealth and Jodai forces were nearly equal to half the council of judges together, Lord Arusuke decided the man had breathed long enough.
“The kots are indecent, but they are a ‘soulful people’, as King Tsae once noted. Valuable too. I won’t press them just yet. Generosity is a virtue, after all.”
Sano cracked a heartfelt laugh. “Wasn’t it you who told me that religion is for the weak who refuse to take power?”
“The Oshidai’s teachings prove useful for all men in some measure. Even I can admit that.”
“Of course, my lord. You are a man of vision who knows how to read the currents and direct them where you please. You’re a good heir to your father, it’s why I respected you far more than your sisters and brothers. May you reign for many years to come.”
* * *
Koji stepped in front of the screen to Irashida’s room, Aiya at his back. The two were freshly bathed standing on the cool floor, rectangular mats of tightly woven fibers fitted into an interlocking pattern. The walls were white rice paper, and the ceiling ten feet high, with translucent folding screens leading into another room across from them. Simple artwork graced many of the screens, from paintings of sunsets to cool colored meadows. He’d sketch that as his next cover up. Outside, a staircase at the hall’s end led down to the castle’s first story, ceramic flower vases placed at its base. Past the lavish gardens surrounding the estate were the streets of Kawanura, capital of River province. A hub of economic activity, full of merchants and artisans. Firetaming and puppet shows were popular attractions, drawing in thousands of nobility and commoners alike from the surrounding countryside each month. The Takasa estate was situated at its center, surrounded by storehouses, towers, barracks and living quarters for lords, retainers, and their garrison. A reminder to the common Erru of noble wealth and prestige. More importantly, it reminded the lower nobility who really held dominion and authority.
The sun had begun to rise, warming the house with its rays. Koji adjusted his robe’s billowed sleeves then refastened the silk belt around his waist. The light blue silk, sown with inconspicuous wavy patterns, was soft enough that it was barely felt throughout the day.
He slid open the door. “Oversleeping again? I thought we ordered this sloth out weeks ago.”
Irashida sat up from his bed, his mouth curving into a smirk. He had a beaming, affectionate smile, one that complimented the soft curvature of his narrow face. It was that same honest smile that pulled all the way to his eyes and touched his dark hairs. Ira was strong like the elk, affable like a deer, and passionate like the wolves, yet gentle as a doe.
“It would seem his affliction of laziness has spread,” Aiya said, brisking over to his bedside.
“Don’t go on acting like mother again,” said Ira as his sister placed a hand over his forehead. “I’m glad to see you two unharmed. How was…last night?”
“Well enough, for us. Not so well for the Hebi,” Koji answered. Owa was perhaps a man no better than their father, though were they any better for punishing the entire clan indiscriminately? Could they be sure that all were complicit? Could his children be held accountable? Koji pushed the guilt aside, only for it to be replaced by another. Ira didn’t know Aiya still struggled, and he’d just lied by omission. Would it be better for his brother to worry?
“Well, I suppose it was for the better. Good riddance to the traitor.”
Only two servants currently occupied the austere room, burning incense. Koji observed them, so peaceful as they contemplated the smoke rise and billow, restoring the house with its aromas. He noticed from time to time how their lives were like the steady, predictable burning of the incense sticks, in contrast to the lives of nobility, which were like the chaotic patterns of smoke rising, swelling, until it expanded so much as to snuff itself from existence. To carry out their duties was all it required to earn sustenance and a roof to enjoy it under. Safe from the political strain placed on higher noble backs, the constant social warfare between the lower noble houses vying for prestige, and never considered a mere weapon from birth to house the power of a deity. They knew their place in the world.
He felt for his book and pen tied under his garments at his waist. Now that was a poetic line. “They know their place in this world, like a gentle kiss,” he muttered. He’d save that one for later.
Aiya and Ira shot him puzzled looks.
“You’ve returned! Thank the Empress,” a voice from behind them called out. Hitsune Kisane drifted into the room and bowed.
Koji smiled and pulled her to her feet, embracing her. “You know we hate it when you do that.”
“You look beautiful, Kisane,” Aiya said, brushing past Koji. He caught a hint of alcohol on her breath as she did. They embraced each other, and Koji frowned as his sister grimaced in pain. She pulled back her shoulder, a slight shift from where Kisane’s arm had brushed her left bicep. Had she been hurt during last night’s excursion? Was that why she was hiding her left side from me?
Koji steeled himself from the irritation welling inside him. She hid things like this from him, anything that might set him off, and perhaps this was the exact reason. To avoid his ‘parental tirades’, his siblings had dubbed it. Koji couldn’t help it. Stuck abrasively at the back of his mind, since a child, was the morbid realization that death was real and random.
He’d spent many nights tending to Ira after his brother had fallen sick. He comforted Aiya in her night terrors, explaining that to keep alignment with one’s deity, the spiritual harmony for maintaining access to its power, the deity’s servant was to overcome their own mind. Also known as their ‘lower selves’, as Shozhu put it, which revealed itself through a grotesque form during alignment. Once thought to be an interfering evil spirit, it was considered the mind’s natural defense against the effect one’s deity had on them. The mind, unable to comprehend the deities, would dredge up some horrifying illusion in response. Perhaps the mind comprehended the deities as an invasive threat. Something sinister and vastly powerful, too frightening to behold, akin to the evil god of the Tarshani religion.
But the deities weren’t gods, as gods didn’t exist. At least not in the way most thought of them. The deities made up the remnants of beings of the natural world. Great, mysterious reserves of power attainable if one took the time to seek them out through meditation. Of course, this was a secret reserved for only a select few of noble blood. He often worried if his siblings were not capable of progressing with him, considered unworthy by the heavens and cursed, unable to wield the power of their deity. He worried more that their lives might someday be taken from them, by sword or by sickness, and then he would be alone.
Koji reverted his eyes to Kisane. Warmth spread into the house servant’s dimpled grin that only aged mothers possessed. Kisane was short and thin, a middle-aged woman whose hair always smelled sweet like roses and ash leaves. More of a mother to the three of them than their birth mother ever was, yet today, her characteristic cheery expression was absent from her face. “Everything alright?”
“I told Asaya you two were going on a trip, and she missed you. I just put her back to sleep. She said she dreamt the three of you were being attacked by a hound on the road while protecting our family.”
Aiya looked concerned. Kisane’s adopted child of seven had finally hit the age where one understood that the worst fear wasn’t knowing, but not knowing what tomorrow would bring about. “Empress’ soul, we should show her that we’re alright.”
“She sleeps now, my lady.” She looked to Ira. “Ira has been in my care, and he’s improving quickly.”
“No rain this morning. Even the sun comes out to sing its praises,” Ira said, throwing off his blanket and sliding on his feet.
Koji eyed Ira, an endless longing in him. His sickness usually kept him bedridden six or seven days out of a month. He’d randomly become dizzy, weak, and confused, forced to be cared for while he recovered. The physicians knew nothing of his condition nor its origin. “Well,” Koji said, “Just in time, because it looks like you won’t be missing out today. We’ve all been summoned by father. It’s an urgent meeting with an heir of Forgery province.”