pounded his drums as if the world itself were ending. The Kenning fairly rippled with the heat of her, voice resounding in the umbra as she took another step forward. The nomad took one step back, cringing low to shattered stone, her words burning in his mind.
The clouds crashed above her, a halo of lightning playing in the sky over her head.
35
CHILDREN OF THE GRAVE
The door to the apartment burst open, Hana almost screaming in fright. Akihito loomed to his feet as Jurou dragged Yoshi inside, kicked the door shut behind. Both boys were painted bloody, her brother leaning on Jurou’s shoulder, his face agony-pale.
“Gods, Yoshi!” Hana was on her feet, rushing to his side, helping him to his pile of cushions. “What happened?”
“Bar fight.” Wincing, Yoshi peeled back his bloody tunic and emptied a bottle of seppuku onto a vicious cut across his ribs. Hana tore off her kerchief, pressed it to the inch-deep slice, warm and sticky-slick beneath her fingers.
“A bar fight?”
Yoshi nodded, tipping the last of the rice wine into his mouth. “Drunken beggar monk came at me with his prayer beads. Those things are bloody sharp…”
Hana pulled back, hands on her hips. “Yoshi, can you be serious for once in your godsdamned life?”
“Now where’s the sense in that?” He took a moment to catch his breath, looked her new outfit up and down, smiled crookedly. “You scrub up prettier than springtime, sister-mine.”
Hana scowled at the flattery, fingers slick with Yoshi’s blood. She looked to Jurou, the boy obviously panicked, fresh scarlet on his hands, dark, dew-moist eyes wide with new fear. Akihito stood in the corner, silent as tombs, looking back and forth between the siblings. Finally, she turned to glare at Daken, curled atop his customary throne over the windowsill, unblinking.
“Someone tell me what the hells is going on…”
With no answers forthcoming, she reached out into the Kenning. Feeling amidst the local corpse-rats; a quick flight through a dozen sets of eyes within shouting distance of the tenement tower. And there in the distance …
… the distance …
“The rats,” Hana breathed. “Oh shit…”
She looked to Yoshi, his eyes losing focus, growing wide as they met hers.
“Shit’s about the size of it.”
“There’s at least a dozen…”
“Out back maybe. Look in front.”
“What is it?” Jurou asked, glancing between the pair.
“Bushimen.” Yoshi pulled himself to his feet, wincing in pain. “Lots of them.”
“Who says they’re after us?”
“You fixing to wait and find out?”
Daken slipped out through the tiny window, darting across the eaves below and crawling up a downspout onto the roof. Jurou disappeared into their bedroom, returning with four bulging satchels of what could only be coin slung over his shoulders. No time for questions—Hana grabbed Akihito by the hand, and the four were slipping out the door without a backward glance.
Yoshi took the lead, bloody hand pressed to his side, the other on the iron-thrower at the small of his back. Jurou brought up the rear, Akihito second, Hana stumbling between them, eyelid fluttering as she rode Daken’s sight. They avoided the stairwell, padding to the broad rice-paper window at the end of the hall. Yoshi tugged at the swollen wood, and the window gave way with a rust-red groan, opening out onto the three-story drop between the ramshackle tenements. The sun’s scarlet glare was sharp on the cobbles and gutter below, shockingly bright.
Hana crawled out first, clinging to a corroded downspout. She scrambled down spider-quick, Yoshi close behind. Slinging one leg over the sill, Akihito hauled himself out of the window, grasping the pipe with hands as broad as dinner plates. He descended using only his upper-body strength, his good leg scrabbling against the brick. Jurou had more trouble, slipping and cursing his way down the spout, doubled over like a monkey and shimmying down the last twelve feet.
Yoshi gave a soft wolf whistle, whispered up at the other boy.
“Fine view down here. But you might want to up with the hurry.”
“Shut up, you’ll make me fall.”
“I’ll catch you, Princess.”
Jurou managed to scramble low enough to drop to the ground, hitting the concrete and rolling to his feet with something approaching flair. Yoshi gave a small round of applause, pulled his kerchief up over his grin. Upstairs, they heard heavy boots in the stairwell, followed by splintering wood and angry shouts.
“Time to go.” Hana pulled on her goggles.
“Doubtless.”
Yoshi slipped down the exhaust-choked alley on the tips of his toes, the others following close behind. Hana reached out to the nearby corpse-rats again, mind awash with rich gutter-scent and maddening flea-itch. She could still sense a few rogues in the drains out front, but the pack at the building’s flank had scattered when the guards approached. Too few eyes. Too few breaths. Fright drawing her stomach tight, her gums chalk-dry, lips sticking to her teeth.
The quartet stole eastward along one crud-ridden alley, Akihito’s hand wrapped in hers. She glanced at the big man. His face was cold and hard, his kusarigama clutched in one fist, blade glinting in the scorching light.
Her voice was a whisper. “Do you think they’re—”
“Daken seeing anything, Hana?” Yoshi glanced over his shoulder.
“He’s up top.” Hana scanned the rooftops, voice cracking. “The way out front is no good, we’ll have to —”
Yoshi and the bushiman rounded the corner simultaneously, ran straight into each other at almost full tilt. Yoshi’s face bounced off the soldier’s breastplate and he staggered back, hand to nose, cursing up a storm. The bushiman fumbled for his naginata—a long spear with a three-foot blade—bringing the weapon to bear and adopting a front-foot battle stance.
“Halt in the Daimyo’s name!”
Yoshi blinked away tears, the red knuckles he wiped across his nose coming away bloodier. The bushiman was clad in scarlet and black iron, tigers embroidered on his tabard in gold thread. His jaw was set, stance fierce, naginata’s blade glittering and death-sharp.
“Against the wall!” A bark of command. “Now!”
“Corpsefucker, I think you broke my nose…”
“I have him!” the bushiman yelled over his shoulder. “He’s here!”
Hana heard the heavy drum of approaching boots. Metal on metal. Shrill whistles. More soldiers on the
