Chapter Thirty-Three Yora
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Yora
So this is how it starts, Yora thought. I’ll have to move quickly.
The many-storied ministry rose ahead, eaves dark with indigo under snow.
Everything seems darker now. He’d been in the capital too long, he told himself – so long he’d started to become one of them, forgotten where his heart truly lay.
It was hypocrisy. It was a world of two faces: say one thing, do another; give an honest bow, a happy smile; the hidden hand will draw the blade.
Eyes everywhere, whispering, faces hidden by a sleeve; a glance of knowing parties, a subtle arrangement behind doors.
At each corner, every alcove, there they were.
Bickering. Plotting. Judging. How often had they come to him and beamed, how often had they asked him: Isn’t this a better life, lord poet, here in our civilized world?
Yet now he remembered the crags of Amayari, the sea of trees and the hills where he was born. Remembered the starburst flowers that adorned his family crest.
His words – his poet’s words – had been made hollow. Like music, meant to keep them placid and content. Now he must be a warrior again. He had his sword. And what? What a contradiction you are, Prince Nioh had said to him once. A fighting man, and a learned one…
I tried, he thought. I tried to stop them. I tried to say: this will flay us to the bone. But this is not our country. It never was. This is theirs, and to them, we’re servants. One spirit, the abbots said, of beings in the world.
One spirit, two souls.
They’re about to rip each other apart.
When he approached the inner palace, the doors were barred. He wanted to smash against them, to shout in the guardsman’s face, say: Seikiyo has gone too far. Instead, he straightened.
“I need to talk to him.”
“You need to wait outside.” Once again Yora found himself face-to-face with scarecrow Onoe Rokuro, as he had that day that he’d arrived, when this all began, but now the young warrior stood with his ropey arms barring the way.
“I am commander of the imperial guard,” Yora said. “You will let me through.”
“You will do what you’re told, poet.” Rokuro stepped back to his place at the top of the stairs. “They’ll call when you’re wanted.”
Yora swore under his breath. What happened to that bashful boy who looked at me with awe? He’s still younger than Kai and yet he talks like he runs the show.
“What did he promise you? Rewards? A manor outside the capital?”
Rokuro said nothing.
In a moment, Shosei appeared, surrounded by his homeguard from the west. The Spear, they called him.
Born by the glittering tide, Seikiyo’s eldest living son had been raised in the web of capital politics and he played the game here well.
“Poet.” He tilted his round head. “We thank you for your patience.”
Seikiyo was already in the great hall when they arrived, running his hands over a worn, bound copy of the ancient Book of Leaves. His youngest son sat lazing on a cushion.
“Spider,” Seichi spat, before the doors were closed. “Waiting, waiting, spinning webs.”
“Chancellor,” Yora began.
“Your niece killed two of our men!” Seichi had risen, and now the guard swarmed around Yora in a half-circle, as if he was an enemy. As if he was a threat.
“She was attacked. What’s going on?”
Seikiyo lingered some time in silence. His head wanted shaving, the short stubble had gone gray. His eyes were weary, burdened with dark bags. He’s as upset at this as I am, Yora realized. And with it, felt a flash of hope.
“Do you deny it?”
“She was attacked,” Yora repeated. “And I never claimed they were your men. Is that what you’re telling me?” He turned to Shosei again, but the moon-faced man stood silent now, waiting for his father.
Seikiyo sat. “We sent an entourage to bring her back.”
The younger son burst out: “And look what happened!”
“Seichi, shut up,” Yora said.
Shosei struck Yora in the gut, knocked the wind from him before Yora could protect himself. He fell to his knees.
“Stop this! Now!” Seikiyo rose. “I need to know the truth from you, poet. That is all I ask.”
“Truth? What of your truth? You sent men to bring her home in safety? Or imprison her? What’s happening in this court?”
“We’re doing what we have to do,” Seikiyo said, “to keep the peace. That’s what you taught me.”
“This is unconscionable.”
“It must be done.”
“Am I your prisoner now?” Yora could feel his voice cracking. “Am I your enemy?”
“I’ve been asking myself that question for a long time, friend.”
Yora pulled himself away. “Maybe I should’ve been. I should’ve stopped you before you had the chance to—”
“I am chancellor. I speak for the realm.”
“You speak for yourself.”
Seikiyo went back to his book, furiously flipping pages as if they’d give him succor.
“You think you’ll find your answers there?”
Seikiyo gave a little laugh. Turned to the glow of his lamp, a single, ghostly flame. It danced with each breath. “I tried to do some good in this, Yora. I did what I had to do…” A brittle smile passed his features, fleeting as a ghost. “Just like you.”
“And what’s that?” Yora pushed against the line of guards. “We fight in service of the empire, not for our own power!”
Seikiyo shook his head. “I understand that, poet. Better than you.”
“Listen to me!”
He turned from Yora now. “Get out.”
Yora left in a hurry. He expected to be stopped – Seichi’s men had taken the palace – but no one stood in his way. The fact that they allowed him to go was more unsettling than any threat.
I’m out of time, he thought. Next will be an arrest. Ashihara lay surrounded by the Keishi. His son would be raised in a Keishi home, controlled by the Keishi chancellor and the regents on their payroll.
Everything Yora feared had come true.
It was inevitable. Everyone had said so, but I thought I could change it. I thought I’d find a way. And now?
Now there were guards outside the gate. A Keishi soldier in a half-helm, butterfly emblems on his sleeves.
“I have orders to prevent anyone from leaving the palace,” the young man said.
“Good.” Yora nodded without breaking stride, and punched the man in the throat, passing the gasping body to the guard post, where he collected his things. He found his sword, the Falling Star, in its scabbard on a mount.
It won’t be long now.
So he left. Down the empty path, cold cutting through his coat. He’d nearly reached his horse when he heard her.
“Teacher.”
Yaeko, his best student, stood behind him, a fury of betrayal in her eyes. Not this, he thought. Not now.
“I didn’t want it to be like this,” he said, voice catching. The words echoed in his mind, sent back to him through air cold as chips of ice and sharp as laughter.
“Is it true?”
Yora shook his head. “It’s complicated, Yae…”
“Complicated? Complicated?”
He went to her. No words would be enough. No words would tell the truth of how he felt. Not now, not anymore. His brother fought against this, once, and was thrown down. His family was scattered to the wind.
And I was left picking up the scraps.
The penitent one, the good soldier, who always did his duty.
And look at where we are.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
“Don’t do this…” She stepped forward. “You can’t do this…”
“You—”
Words eluded him. You? You? What was Yaeko in this?
She had no role in the slaughter of his youth, no hand on the loom that was his fate.
He said: “You don’t have to help them.”
She shook, eyes torn, fracturing. Seeing him, seeing the road they were on. Her words were sad, so terribly sad. The knife of it ran through her too, cutting her as deep as it cut him.
You’re betraying everything you loved. Everything you tried to do.
It led to this.
Her voice trembled. “How…”
Yaeko, he wanted to tell her. I know what you would say.
“We swore an oath to protect them…”
We did. But we also swore to protect the realm.
“I’m going, Yaeko,” he said.
“Stop!” Her sword shook in her arms. “Just stop.”
He saw an ocean in the empty road, deep and impenetrable as any dark abyss. He saw a single strand of truth between them, the truth of what he had to do, and why. She knows, he thought. She knows this can’t go on. It tethered them together; it shoved them far apart.
“Do what you must, Yae.”
“Teacher.” It was a plea.
But he stepped away.
“You’ll be an outcast!” she gasped, tears streaming with anger: “You’ll be a traitor.”
He heard her, and found no way to truly say: I understand. It was beyond him now. Beyond feeling, beyond hope, beyond fear. The truth had always lived in things he didn’t say.
“It’s too late, Yae.”
“Yora! Stop!”
He didn’t. He walked, his back to her. She called his name again. He fought himself, and turned, a final time, to look his student in the eyes.
She took a step. Undecided.
She could end it with a blow.
She didn’t.
Just stood, behind him, watching as he left.
And that, he thought, that is an answer, too.
Finally, he reached his horse. He held the reins, left the palace gate. When he looked back, she was still in the empty road, sword in hand. It fell.
As did tears, from her furious eyes.
Falling, then breaking down upon the stone.
All trees topple in the end, Yora thought. He’d hidden for too long. He knew that now. He’d tried to do what he thought best.
And came away with nothing.
The Keishi were stronger than ever – and growing stronger. If only there had been another way. He rode the grid-like city, snow-covered, long, and cold.
He rode through pain and rage. The empty streets of midnight.
We’re not so different, Yaeko. If only I could have found it…
But it’s too late now. It’s all too late.