last, the thunder tiger leaned in close, pressed her head against Yukiko’s belly, and listened.
The sun slipped out from behind the clouds.
Just for a moment.
And the rain about them turned to falling diamonds.
42
PULSE
The rhythm of the tracks matched the one in his chest, the spectral pulse of the mechabacus inside his head. Kin watched the countryside spin by beyond the beach-glass windows, miles upon miles of lotus fields, the towering six-legged figures of harvestermen cutting through the plants like they were made of smoke, drifting up into a scarlet sky.
The train was filled to bursting, mostly sararimen and their families; mothers, fathers, children, all crammed together in their little metal shells and speeding down the lines toward the great capital of the Shima Shogunate. The news that Kigen had reopened her rail yards to admit well-wishers for the Daimyo’s wedding was received with buzzing excitement, and people from all over the country were descending on the Tiger capital to celebrate the holiday and catch a glimpse of the man who would be their new Shogun.
So handsome, were the whispers. So brave. A man who gave his sword arm in defense of Yoritomo-no- miya, who crushed the Inochi Riots almost single-handedly. A man who stepped forward at the hour his people needed him most and wrought order from chaos. A man worthy to marry the last daughter of Kazumitsu and usher in a new, golden age for this mighty nation.
Or so the wireless said.
Kin scowled, stared at the countryside beyond the glass, tried to block out the tinny voice piping in through the speakers. He wondered how many of the people around him actually believed the Guild broadcast. Packed in so tight they could hardly move, the smell and sweat and noise enough to make a person sick. And yet, still they came. To witness history. To be part of something. To escape the drudgery of their little lives for a heartbeat, pressing their faces against the glass, looking in at perfection they would never have.
At least there was one benefit to the cabins being so full—Kin didn’t have to talk to the other Kage. They were spread out along the train’s length so as not to draw attention. Daichi and Kaori and two dozen others; as many fighters as they could spare without stripping the village of its defenses. Kin knew Isao was amongst them, Takeshi and Atsushi too. But the boys kept their distance, and their stares and insults to themselves.
Ayane had spoken to him as they trekked through the forest to Yama city, his arm about her shoulders. Her voice had been no more than a whisper.
He looked at the girl now as she stared out of the window beside him, wide, dark eyes reflecting the rolling green beyond, the gray wash of storm clouds above. She was pressed into the groove between seat and wall. A heavy cloak and a large straw hat strapped around her shoulders covered the swell of the silver arms at her back.
He recalled his meeting with Daichi, the hushed voices over the chessboard as he outlined the plan that would spell an end to everything. Kin almost felt pity when he looked into the old man’s eyes, when he considered what was coming. He almost felt afraid of what it would mean. Where it would lead.
Almost.
But he pictured Ayane curled bloody and beaten in the corner, the way she’d trembled for hours after the earthquake ended. The way she woke screaming in the night and stared at nothing at all until dawn lit the sky. And he realized that he’d known all along how this would end. The Inquisitors had shown him after all.
Thirteen years old. Breathing in sweet blue-black, the What Will Be laid out before him. A future that, try as he might, he now knew he could never escape. No matter how fast he ran. No matter how deep he dug. No matter how hard he prayed.
Ayane refused to let go of his hand.
The Shadows stepped off the train at Kigen station, Kin among them, fading amidst the crowd and wreaths of fumes. The rail yard was a series of broad concrete platforms, stained beneath black rain, encircled by razor- wire fences and corroding boxcar skeletons. The majestic figure of the Phoenix’s
Kin and the Kage fighters moved swift through the streets, shadows within the throng. Kigen’s citizens were already caught up in the festivities, the sounds of drunken revelry spilling from every sake bar, bedhouse and brothel in Downside. A royal wedding—even a hastily arranged one—would last several days. Tradition held that bride and groom would gather with family and friends to bid a ceremonial good-bye the eve before the ritual. Vows would be exchanged the following morning, just as the Sun Goddess crested the horizon.
Presuming, of course, nothing interrupted the occasion.
“You are well, Kin-san?” Daichi asked over his shoulder, his new walking stick clicking upon the cobbles.
“We’re fine, Daichi-sama.”
“Stay close,” he rasped. “The local Kage may not look on you kindly.”
Kin glanced into Ayane’s wide and frightened eyes.
“That will be a switch,” he muttered.
They doubled back several times to ensure nobody followed them, Kaori and the other Kage splitting off on different routes. But eventually, they came to a grubby house in Downside’s western slums, close to the pipeline. Daichi knocked four times, coughing, lifting his kerchief and spitting black on the cobbles, rubbing at his ribs. Kin watched the street around them, every beggar, every corner courtesan, every drunkard stumbling from a tavern or bar. Iron butterflies in his belly. Sweat on his palms, fingers entwined with Ayane’s, her hand trembling.
The door opened, and a small, wiry woman motioned them inside. She was dressed in dark cloth, hair tied in a single braid. She had no eyebrows, and the skin on her face was pink and shiny, as if she’d been recently scalded.
“Daichi-sama.” A low bow. “You honor this house with your presence.”
“Gray Wolf.” Daichi covered his fist and bowed. “This is Kin-san and Ayane-san.”
Kin felt like the old woman looked right through him.
“The Guildsmen…”
“I vouch for them,” Daichi said. “They have risked more than most to be here tonight.”
The woman chewed at the inside of her cheek, turned and walked down a narrow hallway. The trio followed, Daichi limping hard, past a cluttered kitchen, corpse-rats strung up and bleeding over a cast-iron sink, descending twisting wooden stairs into the cellar. A broad oaken table dominated the space, spread with a map of Kigen city, the pieces from three or four different chess sets arranged across the labyrinthine streets. Kaori stood near the stairwell, speaking with a man the size of a small house. They were surrounded by dozens more people; young and old, men and women and children. As Daichi entered the room, everyone stopped and stared, placed
