The forest-sweet scent of peppermint and cedar, warmth filling him, skin tingling. A wisp-faint breeze slipping through the hole in the floorboards, the cedar bough twisting through the ceiling, as much a part of the furniture as the fire pit. The low rumble of autumn storms outside wooden shutters, fire curling over blackened logs, smoke upon tongue’s tip. Kin breathed deep, savored the taste, understanding why Daichi was spending so much time indoors lately.
He pressed his forehead to the matting, waited for the old man to speak.
“Kin-san.” Daichi’s voice was dry as the bottom of an alcoholic’s bottle. “Welcome.”
Kin lifted his head, sat on his heels. “Do you know you’re one of the only people in this village who calls me that?”
“Surely no surprise dwells in that house for either of us.”
“No surprise. Disappointment perhaps.”
A sip of tea.
“Kin-san, you do not honestly believe children’s toys and a few semi-functional shuriken-throwers will win their favor?”
“Semi-functional?” Kin tried to keep the hurt feelings from his voice. “The line is fully operational, Daichi- sama. Pressure issues are all resolved, stress testing is complete. I’ve arranged for a demonstration tomorrow. In front of the entire village.”
“Even if these trinkets work, will it make people forget who you were? What you were?”
“Everyone here was someone else once. Why not me?”
“Why not indeed.”
Kin sighed, chewed his lip. The old man took another slow sip of tea, eyes never leaving the boy’s.
“Do you play?” Daichi asked.
“Play?”
Daichi nodded to the chessboard on the table. It was a marvelous set, obsidian and jade, each figure carved in intricate detail. The dark pieces were Yomi horrors; hungry dead and bone dragons and oni, led by Enma-o and Lady Izanami upon thrones of skulls. The light pieces were the likenesses of heavenly celestials; Raijin and his drums, Susano-o and his Grasscutter Sword, Amaterasu the Sun Goddess and Tsukiyomi the Moon Father. The Emperor, of course, was Lord Izanagi, the Maker God. The board was stained oak and pine, tiles inlaid with mother-of-pearl. The seal of a Phoenix artisan was embossed in one corner.
“It’s beautiful,” Kin said.
“One of the few pieces of my old life I carried with me.” Daichi’s voice was somber. “That, my swords, my daughter, and my regrets.”
“You were Iron Samurai once.”
“To my everlasting shame,” Daichi sighed. “Though we may shed our skins, the stains of our pasts dwell as deep as our bones.”
Kin stared at the board, saying nothing.
“So,” Daichi said. “Do you play?”
“I play. Although I’m not very good.”
“Much can be learned by defeat.” Daichi knelt by the board, tea in hand, gestured to the other side. “Sometimes there is no finer sensei under heaven than a boot to the throat.”
Kin stood and took his place opposite the old man. He noticed Daichi had opted to play the dark side, which surprised him more than a little. Jade moved first, and Kin made a standard foray with his pawn. Daichi followed immediately, calloused fingers on black glass. He moved without hesitation or flourish, stone-steady; the hand of a sword-saint. No trace of age or frailty in his motion, even if the same could not be said of his flesh.
They played without speaking, soundless save for the crackling spit of cedar logs, the hymn of fading autumn. Whenever Kin glanced up, Daichi was watching the board, intent solely on the game. Kin considered each step, shifting into gradual attack. Daichi would clear his throat and sip his tea, then move with seemingly little thought, but Kin soon realized the old man was a masterful player. His first attack was repelled, the second ended with a crushing loss, and Daichi’s riposte finished with Lord Izanagi threatened on three facings.
Kin laid the Maker God on his side.
“You do not commit.” Daichi poured himself more tea from a charred pot by the fire. “You defend and attack, at odds even with yourself.”
Kin shrugged. “My style, I suppose.”
The old man picked up Kin’s empress, sitting untouched on the rear line. “You hold on to her like she will save you.”
“She’s the strongest piece on the board.”
“She is worthless unless you
“Losing her means losing the game.”
“Folly. One piece matters, and one only.” He tapped his Emperor upon the head. “All else is fodder.”
“You can’t win the game with only an Emperor.”
“He and a single pawn are enough, if you strip your opponent of all he possesses. It is worth losing almost everything if you leave the enemy with nothing at all.”
“Victory at any cost?”
“The stakes demand conviction. There is no prize for second in this game.”
“You just said defeat could be a great teacher.”
“I did.” Daichi winced as he cleared his throat. “But there comes a time when the cost of losing is too high. When all must be risked for victory.”
The old man was seized by a coughing fit, a long wracking spasm, stifled with another mouthful of tea. He regained his breath, hawked a mouthful of spit to sizzle in the fire. When he wiped his hand across his lips, Kin’s heart lurched about his insides, cold dread stilling his belly.
A black stain glistened on Daichi’s knuckles.
“Oh, no…” Kin said.
Daichi stared at the smear for a long moment, steady hands, measured breath.
“And there comes a time when there is no time left at all,” he murmured.
“… You have blacklung.”
“A fitting end,” Daichi shrugged. “There are few more deserving.”
“How long have you known?”
“Not long.” The old man sniffed. “Long enough.”
“I’m so sorry, Daichi…”
“Do not be.” He rubbed the burn scars on his arms. “It is a fate well earned.”
“Does Kaori know?”
“She does not.” The old man glared. “And she will not learn it from you either.”
“You don’t think she’s going to find out eventually?”
“In time.” A shrug. “All things become clear as Iishi rain in time.”
Kin ran his palm through the short hair on his scalp, across the back of his neck. He felt sick, stomach in oily knots, thinking about the fate awaiting Daichi down the road. Not a warrior’s end. Not a hero’s. He pictured the blacklung beggars in Kigen’s gutters; wretches coughing their insides out, trembling hands filled with dark, bloody mouthfuls.
He knew the things Daichi had done, the murder that stained his hands—the Daiyakawa peasants, Yukiko’s own pregnant mother. But nobody deserved to die like that.
Daichi took another sip of tea.
“You did not come here to play chess.”
Kin blinked. “No, I didn’t. I want you to release Ayane from her cage.”
“The lotusgirl has done nothing to inspire our faith. Freeing her would be unwise.”
“If you’re worried about her, why not release into my care? I guarantee—”
“There are few amongst us who hold faith in you either, Kin-san.”
“But do you?”
