Guardian of Heaven and Earth
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New Yogo
The sounds of wooden mallets pounding nails in echoed everywhere as the rebuilding efforts started getting underway. Carpenters called out to one another and delivered stacks of lumber.
It had been two months since Kosenkyo had flooded, and the carpenters and stonemasons were busier than ever. It was the beginning of summer, and all of the city’s inhabitants were busily scurrying about, building a new capital on land to the southwest of Kosenkyo. Crown Prince Chagum had selected the place, and the Master Star Readers had called the location lucky.
By some miracle, the plains to the west of Kosenkyo had suffered almost no flood damage despite the closeness of the Blue Bow River. If the river ever flooded catastrophically again, this place should be fine. It was also close to the Imperial Highway and several smaller rivers, so it was in a convenient location for shipping and trade.
Until the new capital was built, all of the court nobles and government officials ruled from the Mountain Palace to the north of Yazuno. Chagum hosted the army and court in the mountains, frequently staying there himself until there were enough indoor spaces for everyone to take shelter. He left most decisions of government to officials with years of experience. Shuga and Ozuru made many of the hard choices after the flood.
The government officials and cabinet ministers wanted to build a palace for the Mikado in the new capital first. Chagum insisted on prioritizing living spaces for the city’s inhabitants first. Some of the older officials, cloaked in an exaggerated sense of dignity, told Chagum that such an action would be ugata kaim--going against all tradition.
“We must grieve and hold a funeral for our ascended lord, then begin work on your palace. Only then may we prioritize building homes for commoners.”
“No,” Chagum said. “The period of grieving for a Mikado is one hundred days. That’s far too long a time. And a palace like the one that was lost would take over a year to build. Now is the time that is most fortunate for us to build up the infrastructure of the new city, while my father’s spirit is still watching over us.”
It was decided that the new city’s initial buildings would be barracks and living quarters for the nobility and the poor whose homes had been destroyed.
Chagum had to go into debt to start building, since much of his family’s wealth had been lost, but he didn’t mind, and his credit was good. The government officials told him to raise taxes, but he refused. The war had been difficult on everyone. It made no difference to him if he made up the nation’s debt over the course of months or years. Chagum thought borrowing from Rota might be a good idea, but the officials in his government opposed this for the usual reasons relating to international loans: high interest, and elevating Rota’s status above New Yogo in their home nation. But again, Chagum didn’t really care about that. He was thinking of his people, not the country’s reputation.
Chagum wasn’t even thinking about becoming the next Mikado yet. He had too much to do. The capital was being rebuilt. War veterans needed treatment and pay and rewards for service. People displaced from villages and the capital needed temporary homes. It all weighed heavily on Chagum, like he was carrying a mountain on his back.
Shuga tried to help, but there was only so much he could do. He made sure Chagum’s wounds stayed clean and that he remembered to take care of himself while taking care of the country. He was also able to assist with diplomacy, since Talsh had just sent over terms for a more lasting peace.
“I feel like I’m covered in mud wherever I go,” Chagum complained when the day’s deliberations were at an end. Shuga sat across from him at a low table.
“Is mud such a bad thing?” Shuga asked. “It’s fertile soil, after all. Much can take root there.”
“I suppose, but we have no idea what’s going to grow in it, do we?” Chagum muttered.
Shuga picked up a scroll and opened it on the table. “That’s true. But the Talsh have agreed to stop fighting voluntarily, and I think that’s a pretty solid foundation for the future. I don’t know all their reasons, but I assume they want to pull their troops out, too. They’re very far from home here.”
Shuga’s smile contained a hint of wickedness. “The Talsh fleet in Sangal was attacked by pirates, so who knows how long they’ll be able to maintain their grip there. King Karnan and Princess Karina are reading the flow of events in our favor, I think. I’ve heard rumors that they’ve petitioned Prince Raul to restore their independence.”
“As expected from Sangal.” Chagum smiled. “They survived the Talsh without much loss of life. We could learn a thing or two from them.” He smiled again, remembering Karnan and Karina as he’d last seen them.
Chagum’s smile collapsed at the corners. “So much has happened,” he said. “It’s strange. Nothing went like I expected it to, yet everything ended up precisely as I wanted it to be.”
“You were the one who turned the tide in our favor during the war, Your Majesty,” Shuga said.
Chagum blushed a little and looked down. “I could never have done it without help. It might have been my idea, but I couldn’t put anything into motion alone.”
“Give yourself a bit more credit,” Shuga said. “Without your warning, the people of Kosenkyo would not have been able to evacuate in time. If I listed all the remarkable things you’ve done to save us all, we’d be here all night.”
“Let’s not go into all that,” Chagum said. “I’m tired.”
Chagum came out of the Mountain Palace into the courtyard garden and took a deep breath. He would only be the Crown Prince of New Yogo for one more day. Tomorrow night, he would have to wash and purify himself, then go to the new palace whose exterior wood was still untreated. He would be a new Mikado in a new palace. He felt a bit like Torugal, the founder of New Yogo, when he thought about it.
Chagum felt like this was the last night he had to make his peace with his father. If he made it through all the arcane rituals required, he would be standing in his father’s place less than two days from now.
He’d heard rumors about his ascension already. Some people assumed he’d be like the previous Mikado and never leave his palace. Others assumed that he wouldn’t be permitted to assume his father’s mantle, either by government officials or by the gods, because he’d stained his hands with blood and sullied himself with the pollution of the world.
Chagum wasn’t afraid. He knew the rituals to become the new Mikado were difficult, but he was certain he could handle them. Ten no Kami had never made his displeasure at Chagum’s deeds known. Shuga and others who had told him what was required of him claimed that Ten no Kami would judge his actions, but he had nothing to worry about on that score. He was glad that he’d made the choice to save New Yogo, even if it meant defying long tradition.
Chagum didn’t believe that Ten no Kami had judged or purified his father in the floodwaters of Kosenkyo. His father had judged himself. He considered it an unfortunate tragedy.
His father had believed in Ten no Kami. He’d believed that
he was the child of a god. He had sacrificed himself to the disaster of the
flood as a way of contextualizing his lifelong belief. Chagum didn’t like to
think about what that meant, that his father had thought so little of himself
as a person. He did think that his father was sincere in his desire to save New
Yogo. The thought made his heart hurt. There were so many things Chagum wanted
to say to him, and now, he would never get the chance.
Chagum squinted up at the sun through the clouds. He
remembered the huge rainbow he’d seen just after the flood, lighting up the
northern sky right on the border between Nayugu and Sagu. The flood had caused
a great disaster in Sagu, but the water levels rising was just a normal part of
Nayugu’s spring. There were more Nayugu spirits than ever after the flood.
Chagum felt like he’d experienced the strange ritual of life coming out of
death.
He was born between Nayugu and Sagu, and could see both. The
Star Readers were now saying that this period of great change was heralded by
his birth, and that it was the will of the heavens. Chagum didn’t think his purpose
was so grand as that. Nayugu and Sagu operated on their own timelines
completely independent of him. He only mattered because he was able to warn the
people in Sagu.
How many people had died to save him? To save New Yogo? To
realize his dream of a free northern continent? He both did and didn’t want to
know. Thinking about the cost of peace pained him. He worried that he was too
inexperienced and immature to rule.
The people of New Yogo believed that Chagum had flown out of
the sky with an army to save them. They believed his rumored resurrection was a
sign from the heavens, meant to extricate New Yogo from a long and bloody war
they never should have gotten involved in. That was what Shuga had told him.
All of the current suffering people experienced was blamed on the previous
Mikado. Everyone believed that Chagum was truly the favored child of Ten no
Kami, and that he alone could pull their nation back from the brink of
disaster.
Chagum understood that this belief was based on long
tradition. Every Mikado since the first had been revered as a god and imbued
with the idea of divine will. The people were used to the idea. Maybe it
comforted them, but…
Chagum looked up at the sky, frowning slightly. If people
kept thinking the same way, nothing would change. Everything would be left to
the will of Ten no Kami. People wouldn’t act to support their own convictions
if everything was Ten no Kami’s—or his own—will. He would be recreating New
Yogo exactly as it was, with all its potential for making mistakes.
I don’t want to deceive people, or myself.
But he also didn’t want to lay extra burdens on his people.
The shared delusion they had was comfortable for them, because it was
ingrained.
But I’m not a god, I’m a man. And they should know that.
Chagum had never displayed any signs of being divine over
the course of his long journey. And yet, tomorrow night, if he emerged from the
ritual chamber unscathed, he would be treated as a god for the rest of his
life.
Maybe New Yogo doesn’t need a Mikado anymore.
Chagum’s father had been a Mikado in the purest sense, and
his actions had nearly destroyed the country. If his father had been an
ordinary man, and seen himself as one, he might have been persuaded to turn
aside from his course. Chagum might have been able to get him to accept the
alliance early. He might not have been chased from the palace when the water
spirit had laid its egg in him.
Can I do that?
Chagum didn’t want to be the Mikado. He didn’t want anyone
else to have to be, either. No human was strong enough to bear the burden of
godly responsibility. Chagum wanted to create a nation where he could greet his
people face-to-face on much more equal terms.
People often said that the Mikado was the soul of the
nation, but the nation contained untold thousands of people: untold thousands
of souls and voices that had never gotten the opportunity to be heard. Chagum
wanted New Yogo to speak with a chorus of voices. His own voice wasn’t
sufficient to guide so many people.
Chagum knew what he wanted, but he wouldn’t be able to
accomplish it immediately. New Yogo was still too fragile, too damaged: people
needed something larger than themselves to believe in. He blinked up at the
sky. He would have to bear the burden of a lie for a little while longer…but
not forever. He would see people face-to-face, without hiding. He wouldn’t hide
his faults or foibles or suffering, as all the previous Mikados had done. He
would carry the burdens of a god while casting a very human shadow.
He wanted New Yogo’s people to know who he was, beyond the façade
of the lie. Slowly, over time, he could erode the long-held belief that the
Mikado was a god.
Chagum presented his face to the new summer sun and closed
his eyes.
Chagum’s servant, Ruin, came to the Mountain Palace’s courtyard
garden with a horse. Chagum liked riding to release nervous tension. Ruin must
have guessed at his mood.
Chagum had just mounted up and was about to ride off when
heard frantic footsteps behind him.
Mishuna and Tugum stood in the doorway leading out to the
courtyard, next to a pillar. They were not accompanied by attendants, so they
must have waited for a moment of inattention and slipped out of their rooms to
see him. They wore mourning clothes for their father. There was a certain
heaviness in their expressions and postures that Chagum understood all too
well.
Chagum looked down at Mishuna and Tugum from horseback. “Have
you two ever seen a field of wildflowers?” he asked.
Tugum didn’t nod or shake his head. He looked up at Chagum wordlessly,
like he was confused by the question.
Mishuna smiled. “I loved the garden at the Imperial Palace.
I’m sure you remember.”
“I do,” Chagum said, “but wildflowers are even more
beautiful than the garden. Would you like to see? There’s a field of them not
far to the south.”
Mishuna’s eyes widened in surprise. She walked toward
Chagum. Tugum took a tottering step forward, then hesitated.
“Come on, Tugum,” Mishuna said. “We’re only walking as far
as the gate. We need to hurry, or our attendants will find us.”
Chagum dismounted from his horse and took both Mishuna and
the hesitating Tugum by the hand. Tugum had never touched Chagum before and
went rigid. Chagum waited for him to relax a little before he started walking.
Three of the Mikado’s Hunters were inside the courtyard garden to protect Chagum.
They moved to follow Chagum, Mishuna and Tugum.
When the Hunters observed Chagum and his siblings exiting
the gate of the Third Palace, they exchanged dark looks.
Tugum stopped in front of the gate and wouldn’t go through
it. He was panting with anxiety. He was probably terrified of having his pure
soul corrupted by the outside world.
Chagum suddenly remembered his mother, who had come to the
army camp to stay with him when he was sick and injured. She had gone against
custom and long-held beliefs for his sake. He hadn’t realized at the time how
much she’d had to fight against herself. He had spent so little of his life in
the care of his mother. Like Tugum and Mishuna, he was raised more by servants
and attendants after his youngest childhood than his mother. And servants were
strict. They hadn’t allowed Chagum to go outside, ever. Tugum had very likely
been raised the same way.
Chagum knelt down so that he could look Tugum in the eyes. “Are
you afraid of the world outside?” he asked.
Tugum’s lips trembled. He nodded.
Chagum smiled, then pointed up at the sun. “What’s that,
Tugum?”
“The sun,” Tugum said. “It’s Ten no Kami’s eye, so he can
see us.”
Chagum nodded. “You might not believe me, but the sun shines
everywhere. There’s nowhere you can go where Ten no Kami can’t see you. He’s
always watching over you, so there’s no need to be afraid.”
Chagum stood up and took Tugum’s hand again. “Come with me,”
he said. “The field of flowers isn’t far.” He led Mishuna and Tugum through the
gate. The sunlight was warm, and there was a gentle breeze. Birds flitted from
tree to tree along the path.
Mishuna saw the field of flowers first. She gasped, then
laughed for joy. The field sloped gently downhill from the path, and every inch
of space was covered in a riot of bright color. Chagum led Mishuna and Tugum
down the slope into the flowers, tamping down the tall summer grass with his
feet.
“Why are you doing that, Chagum?” Mishuna asked.
“To make it easier to walk, and so we won’t be surprised by
snakes,” he said.
Both Mishuna and Tugum stopped walking when they heard the
word “snakes.” Chagum laughed brightly. “Don’t worry. There are no poisonous
snakes around here. And I’m here to guide you.”
The flowers in the field swayed in the breeze. Chagum found
a grassy place in the sun and prepared an area for them all to sit down. Chagum
remembered that Tanda could play the kind of grass in this field like an
instrument. Chagum plucked a piece of grass, slitted it as Tanda had taught
him, and placed it between his thumbs and index fingers. Then he blew into the
grass.
The note Chagum played was high and shrill like a pig
squealing. Mishuna and Tugum shifted a little away from him.
“What are you doing now?” Mishuna asked. Her eyes sparkled
with mirth.
Chagum taught Mishuna to make a grass flute of her own. She
looked over at Tugum and asked, “Do you want to try?”
Tugum nodded.
“Make a little gap here,” Mishuna said, adjusting his
fingers. “Perfect! Now you can blow into it.”
Tugum took a gulping breath and blew hard onto the grass,
but no sound came out. He kept trying over and over again until he produced a
similar sound to Chagum’s first high-pitched note. Tugum laughed so hard he
lost his breath.
Chagum, Mishuna and Tugum played in the field of flowers together. When they were about to return home, Mishuna started picking flowers for a bouquet.
“Are those for your mother?”
Mishuna shook her head. “Your ascension ceremony is tomorrow,
right? I want to put flowers on father’s grave.”
Chagum opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He knew that
his father was dead, of course, but he hadn’t fully considered that all three of
them had lost a father until this moment. The Mikado’s body wasn’t in his
grave. Workers had dredged through the flood waters for days and hadn’t found
it. There was a new sacred burial mound now, like there had been at the
Imperial Palace in Kosenkyo, but no Mikado was actually buried there yet.
Chagum had visited the old Imperial Palace not too long ago.
It was muddy and in ruins, but flowers grew there too, though they were small.
Wherever his father was, it was likely that he slept beneath a sheet of wildflowers.
“I’ll tell father you brought flowers for him,” Chagum said.
“I’m sure he’ll be happy.”
Tugum pulled at Chagum’s sleeve. “I want to play here again,”
he said. “Can we?”
Chagum grinned, but Mishuna looked troubled. “This is a
special day, Tugum,” Mishuna said. “You know we can’t usually go outside. We’d
make more trouble for Chagum.”
Chagum blinked. Mishuna understood very well why he’d
decided to guide them outside. They never would have gone out on their own—and it
would not have been permitted if he wasn’t there. Chagum rested his hands on Tugum’s
and Mishuna’s shoulders.
“We’ll come here again,” he said. “All three of us will come
to play in the flowers in spring and summer and the snow in the winter. I
promise.”
Sunset colors painted the western sky as the three of them made
their way back to the Mountain Palace, walking slowly, hand in hand.
Two days later, Chagum was declared the new Mikado. He
appeared before his family, servants and the nobility in the courtyard of the Mountain
Palace for a celebration. His clothes were pure white, and a thin white veil
covered his face.
Chagum glanced over at Ruin and smiled. He shook his head a
little and pointed to the veil. “Take this off,” he commanded.
Ruin obeyed.
Chagum felt the warmth of the sun on his face and shoulders. The courtyard garden was full of light. Mikado Chagum went to greet his subjects face-to-face.
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