“I heard the False-Lifer cry out.”
“Her name is Ayane.”
Old Mari pursed her lips, utterly ignoring the girl behind the bars. “Don’t you have work to do? Something other than serving as a punching bag, I mean? Ryusaki was looking for you earlier.”
“I know, I know.” He pointed to the crumpled plans strewn across the floor. “I was just about to head out to the line.”
A scowling sigh. “Well, I’m on my way to take the boys breakfast now, if you wish to skulk along behind me. Just don’t walk too close.”
Kin turned to Ayane. “Are you going to be all right here?”
The girl offered him a tiny, frightened smile. “I cannot be anywhere else, can I?”
“I’ll come back and check on you tonight, if you like?”
“Hai.” The smile broadened. “Very much.”
Kin gathered up the scattered plans, nodded good-bye, limped out the door. Old Mari led the way, her cane beating crisp upon swaying footbridges. Nodding and smiling to the other villagers and studiously ignoring Kin, careful not to give the impression they were walking together. The old woman was remarkably spry, even with her arms laden, scaling down one of the winding ladders from the hidden village to the forest floor. As Kin stumbled after her through the undergrowth, autumn’s scent wrapped him in soft hands, the warm perfume soothing the ache of footprints on his ribs. Walking miles through beautiful green and rusting hues, Old Mari slowed down enough for Kin to catch up with her. She said nothing, but occasionally the boy caught her watching him out of the corner of her sandbag eyes.
Finally arriving at the first of the emplacements, Kin found a group of Kage standing beside the bent and scowling lump of a heavy shuriken-thrower. Truth be told, it wasn’t the prettiest contraption Kin had ever turned a wrench on; four long, flattened barrels, a twisted knot of hydraulics and feeder belts, planted in the earth on a tripod of hastily welded iron. An operator’s seat was affixed to the ’throwers backside, allowing the controller to swivel with the weapon as it moved. Cylinders of pressurized gas were bolted at the base, cable winding up the turret like a cluster of serpents. When fired, the ’throwers sputtered and lurched about like violent drunkards, and were only a little more accurate.
“Ugly as a pack of copper-coin rent boys,” was the descriptor Kaori had chosen when she first laid eyes on them, and Kin had found it hard to disagree. But, unsightly as they might look, the test runs had gone well, pressure fluctuations aside. The forest in front of the ’thrower emplacement was shredded in a neat 180-degree arc—scrubs torn down to miserable stumps, saplings beheaded, bleeding rends torn through ancient trunks.
A half-dozen more of the emplacements were set up along the northwest of the village, the mountains and the pit traps funneling any potential approach from Black Temple into a relatively defensible zone. Kage scouts still undertook dangerous patrols out in the wilds, but should it actually come to an attack, at least they wouldn’t have to fight hand to hand against a legion of twelve-foot pit demons.
Kin sighed, stomach turning, worry gnawing his insides as the memory of Yukiko’s lips set his heart to pounding. He knew Buruu would never let anything happen to her, but still, the fear of having no word, the ache of her absence …
The Kage gathered around the ’thrower were clad in shades of autumn foliage, split-toed boots crunching in dead leaves. Most of the men eyed him with suspicion, the remainder with outright hostility. Sensei Ryusaki was the most senior figure present—a member of the Kage military council, and a renowned swordmaster who had served under Daichi’s old command. The man had deeply tanned skin, a shaved skull and a long black moustache. He was missing his front teeth, compliments of a bar fight in his youth (in one of the few strained conversations they’d had, he’d warned Kin to beware of pretty girls with older brothers) and whistled through the gap almost constantly.
The captain stood, chin buttered with grease, pipe wrench in one hand, smiling at Old Mari. The old woman handed over her basket of food and promptly admonished the captain about eating properly.
Ryusaki glanced at Kin after receiving his dressing-down, narrowed a critical eye.
“Been in the wars, boy?”
“Just a skirmish.” Kin rubbed his input jack again.
“Serious enough to pop your lining.” The man pointed to Kin’s arm.
Kin realized the scuffle with Isao and his fellows had opened up the wound he’d earned during the ironclad attack. Blood was seeping through the fabric at his shoulder, staining the gray a deep, somber red.
“You should head to the infirmary,” Ryusaki said. “Get it looked at.”
“Old Mari has called me a fool twice already this morning.” Kin gestured to the woman. “That’s enough of her ministrations for one day, I think.”
Ryusaki aimed a toothless grin at Mari. “Been picking on our little Guildsman, mother?”
“Hmph.” The old woman scowled Kin up and down. “Boy is foolish enough to take on three young bucks at once, he should thank Kitsune some burst stitching was the worst of it.”
“Three?” Ryusaki raised an eyebrow. “Who did you tangle with, boy?”
“It is no matter, Ryusaki-sama.” A bow. “My thanks for your concern.”
The captain stared for half a moment, shrugged, and turned his eyes on the ’thrower.
“We took the entire line for a test run early this morning. ’Throwers four through six did surprisingly well. Number one popped a seal and lost power; two, three and seven are still suffering pressure failure. But we’re getting there. Kaori was dark as thunder when Daichi approved this madness of yours, but there might be reason to it after all.”
“I think I can fix the pressure issues.” Kin hoisted his schematics. “I almost have it right in my head.”
“A good thing. That earthquake has the oni riled up worse than a Docktown whorehouse on soldier’s payday, no mistake.”
Mari slapped his arm. “Watch that toothless filthpit of yours before I fetch the soap…”
A soft chuckle whistling through missing teeth. “Forgiveness.”
The captain turned his gaze to the northwest, grin slowly fading, eyes narrowed in the dim light. Kin stood beside him, looking out into the growing gloom. The wind was picking up, howling through the trees, a storm gathering strength among the surrounding peaks. Thunder cracked somewhere to the north, dead leaves falling around the captain like rain.
“I know you weren’t there for the battle last summer, boy,” Ryusaki said, voice somber. “I know you’ve never seen one of these things up close. And you strike me as the sort who doesn’t put stock in what he hasn’t seen with his own eyes. But these oni, they’re spat direct from the Yomi underworld, make no mistake, and our scouts have seen
“… We’d best get to work, then,” Kin said.
Ryusaki nodded. “I’m heading out tomorrow, by the by. I’ll be gone two weeks or thereabouts, so you’ll be reporting direct to Kaori.”
Kin groaned inwardly at the thought. “Where do you go, Ryusaki-sama?”
The captain hid his distrust well, but Kin could still feel it prickling on his skin.
“… South,” Ryusaki said.
Kin pursed his lips, nodded slow. No more than he should have expected, truth be told. Turning to the ’thrower, he pried off the firing mechanism housing. Placing it on the ground with a wince, he rubbed at his bloodstained shoulder. The old woman watched him, something a few feet shy of guilt in her eyes.
“Listen … if you wish to come back with me, get that wound restitched…”
“I am fine,” Kin said. “Truly.”
Mari clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “You remind me of my husband, Guildsman. He was stubborn as a mule too. Right up to the day he got killed.”
“I appreciate the concern, Mari-san.” Kin turned his eyes to the machine, tried to keep the anger from his voice. “But I can take care of myself.”
“Have it your way,” Mari sighed. “I’ll be in the infirmary when the dust settles. But you’re a fool if you think you can deal with all your troubles alone.”
