Yatagarasu Series
Volume 7:
The Raven's Paradise
Author: Abe Chisato
Part 5: Mercy
Before they departed from Clear Mirror Temple, they were granted some time to enjoy the baths.
They took turns in the hot water, though Yorito and Hajime opted to bathe simultaneously as a security measure.
When Yorito brought his sword into the water, Hajime stared. “Isn’t that a wee bit excessive?”
Yorito shook his head. He couldn’t allow himself to be careless.
The bath was spacious and immaculate, reminiscent of the grand and ancient architecture that Yorito had only seen while attending the Keisōin. His family had a bathhouse and there were public baths throughout the territory, but they were nothing compared to this. He felt strangely nostalgic for his student days as he bathed.
After their bath, a meal prepared by the temple’s staff awaited them. They engaged in a brief discussion with the temple guards assigned by Natsuka while they ate. The Yamauchishu would be stationed at a distance, out of sight. Other guards would also fan out and keep watch, with none of them staying too close. The strategy was to pretend that Yasuhara Hajime was simply another face in the crowd. Their cover story would be that Hajime was a priest accompanied by temple guards. Priests went to inspect work sites all the time, so this cover story was plausible.
Hajime would assume the role of the priest. Tobi would pretend to be his servant and carry his things.
Tobi clean looked like a new person. He could have been any Yatagarasu child on a city street now. He was scarcely recognizable as the grubby urchin Yorito had first met in the Underground. Tobi seemed a bit embarrassed by his own reflection in the temple’s brass mirrors.
Hajime was obviously uncomfortable in priest robes, which didn’t seem to fit him properly even after the other priests helped him dress and adjust his clothes. He looked so out of place that Yorito was tempted to call off the work site visit altogether.
“I think you look better with dirt on your face,” Tobi observed, his expression a blend of sympathy and amusement.
Yorito chose not to translate this, but Hajime seemed to understand Tobi’s general meaning from the boy’s tone.
“The priest look isn’t quite for me,” Hajime said with a self-deprecating grin.
The Underground’s former residents had been divided into three groups: the men at the embankment labor sites to the north where flood control work was underway, the horses at the same sites pulling stone and timber under soldiers’ supervision, and the women’s workshop, where former courtesans of the Valley lived and worked. An embankment site was closest to Clear Mirror Temple, but Hajime wanted to see everything, so they mapped a route that took the women’s workshop first.
In case of attack, they would travel by horse rather than flying carriage. Hajime had grown accustomed to Yorito’s reckless flying; he made no complaint when he was told to ride. He and Yorito would share a horse. Chihaya would carry Tobi. Three temple guards were assigned to accompany them.
They put on sashes identifying them as Clear Mirror Temple affiliates and set out after midday.
***
Yamauchi had always benefited from abundant clear water sources, but in recent years, some officials feared that the mountain god’s weakening power would affect Yamauchi’s water. A flood control project had been underway since the start of the previous emperor’s reign. Embankments and waterways were being maintained by horses. Reclaimed land was turned over to facilities like the women’s workshops that dotted the city.
Several such facilities had been established across Souke Territory. The first women’s workshop—their destination—was the oldest and the largest. The workshop sat at the foot of a mountain on the border between Nanke Territory and the Souke Territory. From the air, they saw terraced fields arranged along a gentle slope, new buildings made of pale, unweathered timber, and a great many women in feather robes moving about. As they descended toward the landing area in front of the main workshop, the women came out together to receive them.
“Welcome.” The representative who greeted them introduced herself as Takano. Her back was straight, her manner composed, and her smile warm. She must be nearly eighty. She had the kind of face that had settled into its lines so thoroughly that it no longer looked old, but sculpted. It was hard to believe that she had once been a courtesan in the Valley.
A messenger from Clear Mirror Temple had arrived before them, so Takano already knew who they were and why they were here. The greetings went smoothly.
Takano offered to show them around the women’s workshop herself. “Let me take you to the fields first,” she said, turning to lead the way.
She stopped before she’d taken two steps. Her eyes lingered on the red cord knotted around Yorito’s sword. “Could it be—are you one of the Yamauchishu?”
“My goodness!”
“Yes, but—”
Before Yorito could say anything more, Takano called out to the assembled women. “Did you hear? One of the Yamauchishu has come to see us!”
The women broke into a chorus of delighted exclamations. Smiles spread through the crowd like a ripple moving outward from a stone dropped in still water.
Yorito had the brief, useless thought that he should have borrowed a plain sword from Clear Mirror Temple. It was too late for that now.
“Please don’t concern yourselves about me,” Yorito said.
Takano shook her head firmly. “But of course we will. The Yellow Raven has shown us tremendous kindness. If we were to be rude to anyone under his command, such conduct would reflect poorly on us. I couldn’t forgive myself for allowing such a thing.” Her voice was mildly regretful. “If only you had told us of your visit in advance, we could have prepared a proper welcome for you, sir.”
“This visit isn’t on the Yellow Raven’s orders. I’m here because of personal curiosity, nothing more. Don’t go to any trouble on my account.”
Yorito’s protestations fell on deaf ears. Yorito was now the guest of honor—more conspicuous than Hajime in his priestly disguise or the temple guards in their armor. He hadn’t anticipated this at all.
Takano led them all on the tour. Visiting the fields did nothing to settle Yorito’s mood. Prodded by a discreet elbow from Hajime, Yorito gave up trying to deflect attention and settled into the role of patient and attentive listener.
“This is the medicinal herb garden.” Takano indicated a mountain slope where different plants grew in rows. Small painted signs identified each row of plants. The lettering was neat, weathered to softness at the edges. All of the signs Yorito read were perfectly legible, which suggested that they were regularly replaced. Some rows were shaded with cloth stretched over bamboo frames. Others had scarecrows placed out front, their wooden clappers clicking in the breeze. The garden was considerably larger than the medicinal plot in Souke Territory’s Imperial Court garden, and much better tended.
“We focus mainly on cultivating and researching disaster-resistant crops and medicinal herbs. We grow ordinary millet, foxtail millet, and proso millet. We also breed hardier minor grains that can withstand difficult growing conditions.”
The goal, Takano explained, was to develop grain varieties that could be harvested reliably throughout the year. Promising new strains were sent to other women’s workshops for mass production.
A little further along, women wearing headbands were bundling harvested millet and sowing foxtail millet seeds. Their movements were practiced and efficient. They worked easily with one another and did their work mechanically.
The second women’s workshop established in Yamauchi was near Saike Territory. That workshop focused on producing sturdy, inexpensive cloth. The latest looms were tested and perfected there.
“We don’t weave cloth here, but we’ve been developing ideas around thread,” Takano said as they passed by field workers. “There are tall grass varieties that grow even in droughts. When you soak the grass and beat it, the tough fibers inside come out. Woven into thread, the texture is very rough, but the cloth made from it is durable and useful.”
The Imperial Court directed and supervised all workshop activities, of course.
As they walked through the fields, Yorito noticed guards stationed at regular intervals. They stood perfectly still and showed no sign of noticing anything around them. Yorito asked Takano about the guards.
“We are all women workers here, so the Aerial Army of Heaven maintains a permanent presence to assist with heavy labor. The guards are primarily here to ensure that we are protected,” she said.
The women’s workshop was in Souke Territory, but it was distant from all of Yamauchi’s cities. Nanke Territory’s security checkpoint was the closest settlement. When Yorito asked about daily necessities, Takano explained that peddlers came through regularly and that the women could buy what they needed with their wages. With advance notice and an escort, they could also go to the nearest town in Nanke Territory for leisure.
After the fields, Takano led them into the largest of the workshop buildings. The interior was large and airy, the ceiling higher than usual for a workshop facility. Afternoon light filtered through paper screens along one wall. Medicinal herbs were spread across woven bamboo frames roughly the size of rice mats used for flooring. Women with their heads wrapped in kerchiefs used fans over them, drying or smoking the harvest. The air smelled astringent and faintly sweet, like the inside of a medicine chest opened after a long winter.
“The herbs from the fields are processed here. They are dried, treated, and changed into medicine that can be applied or taken as-is. We have a physician on the premises at all times, conducting research. He also treats our illnesses and injuries.”
In the neighboring building, the sick and injured were laid out in rows on low folding cots, which were typical field hospital furnishings. Yorito spoke briefly with the doctor on duty. He was a young man with ink-stained sleeves who answered his questions with the slightly distracted air of someone whose mind was perpetually running ahead of the conversation. From what Yorito gathered, new medicines were being tested on patients here. Research and development happened in the same facility.
They were also shown the main residential building, which was set apart from the rest. The women’s quarters were clean and spacious. Their futons were folded neatly and stacked against the walls during the day. A large kitchen smelling of rice and savory sauce occupied one corner of the building. Cooking utensils of lacquered wood and good-quality iron hung in rows above the kitchen hearth.
Yorito took a close look at the women preparing dinner. The menu was oddly familiar. The women’s daily diet was based on the millet and grains grown on the premises. The people of the Underground ate much the same thing every day.
Tobi was at the back of the group, his expression unreadable. Yorito couldn’t tell if he’d noticed how similar the food here was to what he ate at home.
“Every one of us here was a courtesan in the Valley. I never dreamed of having a proper job, never mind medical care, when I lived there.” Takano pressed her hands together as if in prayer, her eyes finding Yorito’s. “We are all sincerely grateful for the Yellow Raven’s mercy.”
Yamauchi’s productive capacity had been declining slowly for years because of the weakening power of the mountain god. No major disaster had afflicted Yamauchi yet, but the memory of a terrible, destructive earthquake lingered in the minds of the Yatagarasu. Most nobles ignored economic concerns regarding productivity or the threat of future disaster, but not the Yellow Raven. His policies had killed two birds with one stone: he’d solved Yamauchi’s production crisis and he’d given the women ousted from the Valley new lives and a meaningful place in the world.
Yorito had never seen one of these women’s workshops with his own eyes before. He was stunned by all the good being done here. He glanced at Tobi, who was looking around with clear interest. His mouth was set in a firm line. He had come here expecting something terrible, and he clearly didn’t know how to react to the reality of the situation. He was almost pitiable.
If this visit shifts something in him, even slightly, it will be worth it, Yorito thought.
Hajime listened to Chihaya’s quiet translation with close attention, his expression mild and giving away nothing, as usual.
Yorito asked Takano whether they kept a pipe or tobacco on the premises. They did, since some medicines were taken via pipe. Both pipe and tobacco were produced quickly and given over to Hajime’s use. The pipe was long-stemmed and made of dark wood with a small brass bowl attached. A wooden ashtray came with it.
The pharmaceutical workshop had a small guest room. Yorito encouraged Hajime to try the pipe.
Hajime puffed on the pipe. For the first time since arriving in Yamauchi, he said, “You know what? That’s damn good.”
“I’m glad.” Yorito had been quietly worried about Hajime for days. The man was a heavy smoker, and he had gone without cigarettes since his arrival. “Shall I buy some to take with us?” he asked.
“Nah.” Hajime exhaled purple smoke and shook his head. “The only smokes I really enjoy are borrowed ones.”
“Borrowed?”
“Yeah. I like bumming a bit of whatever another person’s got.” He turned the pipe over in his hands, the brass bowl catching the light. “If I’ve got my own on hand, I’ll smoke ‘em readily enough, but…” He glanced around the room. “It doesn’t look like I’ll be bumming many smokes in a place like this.”
He tapped the pipe bowl against an ashtray, then slowly lifted his face. “Is this place paradise to you all?” He asked Takano and the other women in the room.
Takano had watched Hajime converse with Yorito in his unfamiliar language with a patient smile. She’d worn the same smile since giving them all her greetings when they’d first arrived. It had not shifted in the slightest.
Yorito was about to mention this, but that would not have been polite. He decided to translate for Hajime, since Chihaya showed no inclination to do so.
Takano faced Hajime directly, still smiling. “Yes. Of course,” she said.
“Really? I heard this wasn’t where you chose to be,” Hajime asked.
“At the time, we never imagined a place like this would be prepared for us.”
“You have no complaints?”
“Not a single one. All of us at the first women’s workshop are sincerely grateful for the Yellow Raven’s benevolence.” Takano smiled even more broadly.
Yorito had been translating steadily throughout, but as he prepared to relay those last words to Hajime, he paused.
There was something wrong here. Something he couldn’t see—but he could sense it. What was it?
Had Takano been smiling at Hajime just now, or at Yorito?
There must be many women here who had been separated from their children, husbands, parents, and siblings. There were children in the Underground who still spoke of women from the Valley as their mothers and older sisters, so the reverse must also be true.
And yet, they had not heard a single word of complaint all day.
Yorito forgot to translate. Instead, he said, “I’ve heard that some of you were separated from your families.”
“Family bonds in the Valley were always shallow and not worth mentioning.” Takano’s smile didn’t shift an inch. “Compared to women working in the city’s pleasure district, women there held a low social position. We left brutish men behind and live each day in peace and quiet. That is the greatest happiness there is.”
“That’s a lie!”
The room went still.
Tobi stepped forward, his eyes bright with tears.
“You treated us all like we were your real children, even when we weren’t related by blood! There are boys in the Underground right now who miss their moms. Why would you say something so cruel?”
Takano remained composed. “I feel for you, child. But I think you’ll be far happier where you are than you would be with us. Be grateful to the Yellow Raven.”
“Why should we be grateful to the Yellow Raven? We’re getting by on our own,” Tobi grumbled.
“When you’re older, you’ll understand,” Takano said patiently.
Tobi still looked unconvinced, but when Chihaya put an arm around his shoulders, he stepped back.
Yorito had noticed something. Takano’s expression hadn’t changed, but her voice had. She also knew that Tobi had come from the Valley without needing to ask.
Then a strange sense of déjà vu clicked into place.
The people of the city’s pleasure district had worn the exact same smile Takano was wearing now. It hadn’t troubled him then. But their words—directed, ostensibly, at Hajime—had not actually been meant for Hajime at all.
They aren’t answering the question. They’re speaking past Hajime… to the guards standing behind him.
The words Natsuka had said at Clear Mirror Temple came back to him: You’re the Yellow Raven’s man, aren’t you? I don’t mind if you report this conversation back to him.
Yorito’s blood went cold.
***
That night, they lodged at the Nanke Territory security checkpoint. Nanke Territory was reliant on trade with Souke Territory, so the checkpoint was a bustling place. A permanent guard detail of Aerial Army of Heaven recruits roamed the checkpoint. Nothing too dangerous was likely to happen in a place like this.
The inn they stayed at was directly across from the checkpoint plaza. From the window, they could look down on the checkpoint’s stage.
The checkpoint stage served double duty: it was used for ritual performances of religious dances and daily public announcements from the imperial government. At a fixed time each evening, musicians and performers took the stage and conveyed the day’s news in song and dance—a format that had become so familiar and popular that most people took it for granted. This news format had begun as one of the Yellow Raven’s policies. Touke musicians were chronically unemployed; this practice fixed that problem while ensuring that commoners who couldn’t read the papers still received news. The musicians and entertainers employed in this work were called public performers, and they all received the same news to share at the end of each day.
After dinner and a bath, they returned to the large room that had been assigned to them. Chihaya dropped onto his futon immediately, exhausted. Tobi drifted toward the window, drawn by the sounds from the stage below. Women in gorgeous costumes had just come out onstage to dance along with a flute melody.
Hajime set up his ashtray and pipe and then leaned against the windowsill. He smoked his pipe with an air of complete contentment. He had bought the cheap pipe from a tobacco shop near the checkpoint earlier. At dinner, he’d persuaded one of the inn’s workers to share some tobacco with him. The sweet, faint scent of purple smoke drifted through the room as music from the stage floated up to them.
Yamauchishu disguised as guests occupied the surrounding rooms as a security measure. Yorito found this genuinely reassuring. He was looking forward to relaxing his vigilance enough to enjoy a bath and unbroken sleep.
“What did you think of them, Yori?” Hajime asked.
Yorito’s heart leaped to his throat. “Excuse me?”
“The women at the factory today. Do you think they’re really grateful to the Yellow Raven?”
The women in the workshop had said that they were grateful. Yorito thought that if he were in their position, he would surely be grateful, too. But he would feel other things, too, uncomfortable things like the emotional equivalent of rough or burned patches of skin. Emotional wounds that they were concealing out of fear.
Tobi hadn’t spoken much all afternoon. He sat near the window, his jaw clenched as he stared at the stage and nothing else.
The boy had not been convinced of the women’s gratitude: so much was clear. One of the few things he’d said after leaving the workshop was, “I can’t believe they feel that way.”
Yorito also lacked the conviction to say that he’d been right, and that they’d seen nothing wrong at the women’s workshop. “I couldn’t say for certain,” he said. “What do you think, Mr. Yasuhara? Does Yamauchi seem like paradise to you?”
Hajime snorted. “My eyes ain’t that easy to fool,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“You really don’t see it?”
Yorito said nothing.
“They have guards on them. You said they can go into town if they file notice and arrange an escort, but look at that another way, and it means that they can’t go anywhere on their own. Food, clothing, and shelter are provided, but those women aren’t free. They’re slaves. That’s what it comes down to.” He puffed on his pipe. “I thought something was off even in the pleasure district. This just confirms it.”
“What do you mean?” Yorito asked again.
“Everyone—regardless of sex, age, status, or occupation—has absolutely nothing to complain about,” Hajime said. “I don’t know how it works for Yatagarasu, but that’s not normal for humans. Most of us can’t get out of bed in the morning without causing trouble for somebody. If someone insists that they have no complaints, they’re lying. I don’t think I spoke to bad people, so my guess is that they have no choice but to pretend.”
He looked at Yorito. “You believe the lies, I think. Didn’t you notice how the people in the pleasure district reacted to you? They took one look at your sword and plastered on a nice smile.”
A shiver went down Yorito’s spine.
The Yamauchishu were the Yellow Raven’s eyes and ears; his hands and his feet. That was Yorito’s pride, and it was something everyone in Yamauchi understood.
If the women thought that letting even a small complaint slip to Yorito meant that something bad would happen to them, then of course they would complain about nothing.
“Can’t exactly call that a healthy mindset, can you?” Hajime bit down on his pipe stem.
Yorito had nothing to say in response. If the women had complained of something small—wanting a little more freedom, wanting to see their husbands or children—that would have felt like the truth. Instead, they had said only the words the Yellow Raven would want to hear.
Hajime seemed to find something amusing in Yorito’s silence. “I’ve never felt very connected to my family,” he said, shifting subjects without warning.
Yorito blinked.
“My parents didn’t pay me much attention. Before I was taken in by my foster father, I was basically raised by the TV.” He paused. “When I was young—I don’t even know exactly how old—I saw an interview with a refugee girl on TV. She’d fled a war zone and been resettled in a developed country. She said: ‘There are no shells or gunfire here. I can sleep peacefully every night. I can eat good food. I can wear pretty clothes. It’s like paradise.’”
Hajime exhaled smoke. “I was watching that, and I thought that I understood exactly why she would feel that way. And then I thought, where I am is paradise, too.” He gave Yorito a self-deprecating grin. “But it wasn’t. Even if you live in a nice house, with no sound of shells, with good food and nice clothes… even then, you could still have good reasons to hang yourself.”
Yorito felt like he could see a shape behind Hajime, swaying slightly at the end of a rope, but it was just a reflected shadow from the stage below.
He knew nothing about Hajime. Nothing at all. Not about his past or his life—absolutely nothing.
“As a kid, I couldn’t understand how someone could suffer so much in paradise. I happened to catch a rebroadcast of that program when I was an adult, and there was a part of the girl’s interview I missed the first time,” he said dully as smoke drifted from his pipe.
“Do you know what she said? ‘At first I thought it was like paradise. But I don’t think so anymore. I want to go home.’ I’d only ever remembered the convenient first half, like an idiot. Or maybe I just didn’t see the next part as a kid. But that part is the truth. Food, clothing, and shelter don’t make a place into paradise. So, then… what does?” he asked, not seeming to expect an answer.
Hajime looked at Yorito the way a teacher might look at a child struggling to answer a question.
Yorito’s mouth was dry. He didn’t know. He was about to say so when a loud clang from the stage below distracted them both. That clang was irregular; Yorito had only ever heard it when there was an emergency broadcast message.
The dancing women withdrew in a hurry as a man appeared from the side of the stage holding a bundle of papers. In a musical cadence, he read, “The Kuisaru have attacked.”
The crowd stirred.
Chihaya sat bolt upright on his futon.
“Again?” Yorito suppressed a groan. An attack had happened in the pleasure district scant days ago.
Chihaya came to the window and looked over Tobi’s head at the stage.
“The attack took place in a small village near Touke Territory’s security checkpoint,” the announcer said.
“You’re too close,” Tobi muttered to Chihaya. “Don’t hog the window.”
The announcer’s report was grim. He described a large-scale attack, which hadn’t occurred in years. Several villagers had been killed in the fighting. Three Kuisaru had attacked at once. A nearby guard post had responded quickly and all three had been eliminated.
“There is nothing to worry about,” the announcer concluded.
The crowd murmured uneasily. The music shifted, becoming solemn and formal. A performer in a fur costume with a red-painted face came out and began to dance.
“The Kuisaru attacked again?” Hajime asked.
“Yeah,” Chihaya said.
Hajime frowned at the stage. “I thought Kuisaru attacks were uncommon. We only just got attacked the other day.”
“This is extremely unusual. And it was a large-scale attack with much loss of life,” Yorito said quietly.
“What is this song?” Hajime asked.
“Whenever Kuisaru appear, they always perform a piece called Flourishing—an opera about the Yellow Raven’s exploits when he was young. He beat back the Kuisaru during the great war. Even those who miss the spoken proclamation understand what it means when they hear opera.”
Hajime narrowed his eyes at the stage. “This feels weird.” He glanced at Yorito. “This attack… did it happen close by?”
“Why do you ask?” Yorito asked.
“I want to go look.”
With uncharacteristic speed, Hajime stood up and shucked off his nightclothes. He reached for the same outfit he’d worn during the day and donned it quickly.
Yorito was stunned. “Right now?”
“Right now.”
“The security arrangements aren’t set up for this.”
“We went to Clear Mirror Temple specifically to get them set up for situations like this,” Hajime said.
“At night, the Yatagarasu are at a disadvantage.”
“The Kuisaru that attacked were wiped out, right? And if whoever’s behind this is actually a Yatagarasu, there’s no particular disadvantage.” Hajime laughed, oddly confident. “If we get attacked, we’ll retreat.”
“We can’t just show up there,” Yorito said, thinking through the situation as he spoke. “The forces that responded to the attack are commanded by the Yellow Raven. They’re allies, but their chain of command is different from mine. They might be suspicious of us for showing up without permission.”
“We don’t need permission. Why else do you think I left the Yellow Raven behind? I’m not gonna ask him for anything.” He glanced around the room. “Hey, Chihaya. You can come, right?”
Chihaya gave him a flat look of disapproval. “You’re going. So am I.”
“Chihaya!” Yorito said, indignant.
“If you’re going to try to stop me, I’ll leave you behind,” Hajime said to Yorito.
“If going in force would get us noticed, we’ll keep our numbers small,” Chihaya said, already moving.
“I’ll go with you.” Yorito stood up. He pulled off his nightclothes, revealing his feather robe. “But why do you want to go?” he asked.
“The time and place of the attack is suspicious,” Hajime said.
Yorito’s mouth snapped shut. Hajime wasn’t wrong. This whole situation was deeply suspicious. So many strange things had happened since Hajime’s arrival. He’d never heard of two Kuisaru attacks so close together before. The dispossessed denizens of the Underground had never attacked Yatagarasu in the city before, either, at least not to his knowledge.
The ghost lingered in his mind like an unanswered question. Was she responsible somehow? Was she a Kuisaru survivor? That possibility had never been ruled out.
“A fool resting beats a fool thinking,” Hajime said. “Me? I work better in the field. There are things that can’t be understood unless they’re witnessed firsthand.”
“I’m going, too!” Tobi said stubbornly.
They all set off together shortly after that.
***
Yatagarasu couldn’t transform at night, so they rode horses.
Yorito and Hajime took the horses they had ridden from Clear Mirror Temple. Chihaya and Tobi borrowed the best mounts the inn had available. Three temple guards accompanied them.
The guards lit a large, fancy-looking lantern that emitted steady white light. Then they checked their destination against a map and compass and set out from behind the inn.
There were lookout towers placed irregularly across the landscape, all lit with beacon fires in the darkness. These towers were manned by the Aerial Army of Heaven and the Yamauchishu. Guard captains shifted rotation regularly so that they would be familiar with all of the lookout towers in their assigned territory. This familiarity allowed for rapid response in emergencies.
As they rode along the line of watchtower beacons, sentries noticed their group and moved to intercept them several times. Each time, Yorito opened and closed the shutter on one side of the lantern, and the sentries stood down. The journey went smoothly.
Even in summer, riding in the night was bitterly cold. Yorito missed the evening bath’s warmth and the tips of his ears ached.
They saw light in the distance.
“Fire,” Hajime called out.
Chihaya’s horse surged ahead of the group. In the light of the lantern, Chihaya made hand signs: down, over there. He knew this terrain.
Yorito signaled agreement and began his descent. The smell of smoke stung his nose. A column of hot air warmed his face.
A small village was burning. Flame the color of a sunset sky swallowed houses whole. Blackened support beams clustered eerily in the dark like exposed ribs. The smoke billowing above was lit by the orange flames, creating a murky curtain that was difficult to see through. Two or three homes and a barn were faintly visible. They saw no people or animals—nothing moved except the flames.
The scorching heat made a direct approach impossible. They circled wide to avoid the updraft and looked for somewhere safe to land. In a field set back from the burning buildings stood a cluster of figures that looked like soldiers. Several people lay covered with straw mats in the field. A dark liquid seeped out from beneath the mats, spreading slowly into the soil.
Chihaya descended cleanly. Yorito landed near him.
Up close, the heat was oppressive and the fire was loud enough to drown out most other sounds. The air smelled of charcoal and death as wood splintered and burned.
“Who the hell are you?!” One of the soldiers shouted as they landed. His equipment marked him as an Aerial Army of Heaven recruit.
Yorito dashed in front of Chihaya and held out his sword.
“I am Yorito of Kitanokōji, a Yamauchishu. I’m acting on special authority and inspecting this place on behalf of Clear Mirror Temple.”
The soldiers stiffened.
Behind Yorito, Hajime had already shrugged off his cloak and was walking directly toward the straw mats.
Chihaya followed a step behind.
“Hey! Stop!” The soldier’s alarmed shout went ignored.
Hajime dropped to one knee in the field and lifted the nearest mat without hesitation. The smell hit immediately. No one would ever forget the sickly-sweet smell of death and decomposition after scenting it once. Yorito could smell it even through the reek of burning buildings.
The corpse was of a middle-aged man. He had dried blood on his face and his eyes were closed. His mouth was open in an expression of terror. The blood soaking his clothes was still wet.
Tobi swallowed hard and retreated behind Chihaya.
Hajime didn’t appear upset. He said nothing for a long while. Then he pressed his hands together and bowed his head. “Poor guy,” he muttered. In his borrowed priest’s robes, he looked like a holy man praying over the dead.
The soldiers went silent, watching Hajime with more wariness than hostility.
Hajime stood and looked toward the fire. “We can’t get any closer to that.” He faced the soldiers. “The Kuisaru were killed, so why is there a fire?”
Chihaya translated for him. The oldest soldier—the commanding officer, from his bearing—answered, “We’re the border guard for Touke Territory’s security checkpoint on the Souke Territory side. The Yamauchishu responded to the attack first. By the time we arrived, it was too late to put out the fire.”
“The Yamauchishu got here before you?”
“That’s right. The attack happened at dinnertime. Most of the villagers were killed. The survivors fled into the forest and made their way to our guardhouse to report it. We moved out at once, but by then the Yamauchishu had already dealt with it.”
Chihaya relayed this.
“Who started the fire?” Hajime asked.
“The Kuisaru, apparently. One was driven into a house. They set it alight as a last act of resistance. At this point, there’s nothing to be done but let it burn out.”
“Where are the Kuisaru bodies?”
“In the fire.”
“Then how do you know you got all of them?”
“We heard an eyewitness account. We swept the area as well and found no signs of any Kuisaru.”
“Where is the eyewitness now?”
“At the checkpoint, most likely. He was injured, too. After treatment, he’d be questioned again about the details of the attack.”
Hajime nodded firmly in understanding. “Are we going?”
“Of course,” Chihaya said.
Hajime gave the soldiers a loose, easy wave. “Thanks for your help,” he said as he stomped back to the horses.
Yorito said nothing.
***
The Touke Territory security checkpoint wasn’t far. It was blazing with lamplight when they arrived, the agitation from the attack still running visibly through the crowd of people. The Kuisaru had been eliminated, but a village within sight of the checkpoint was burning. Most of the villagers had died in the attack. The crowd was restless and irritable as Hajime and the others made their way through.
The checkpoint itself was closed for the night, but those who wanted to leave first thing in the morning lined up in front of the gates. To soothe the crowd’s unease, the public performers played Flourishing even at this hour. It was well past midnight and quite cold.
They pushed through the crowd toward the guard station attached to the checkpoint.
The villager who’d reported the attack wasn’t there.
“That one? The Yamauchishu took him to Souke Territory awhile ago. They’ll have him treated and questioned there,” one of the guards at the station said.
Yorito looked around. “What do we do?”
Chasing the witness down further tonight would be difficult. The sensible thing would be to go back to the inn and try again the next day. He was about to make that suggestion when Hajime spoke.
“We follow until we can talk to him.” He was already moving toward the guard station’s door.
“Are you serious?”
“Completely. We keep going until I can hear his account for myself.”
“Why go that far? What is bothering you, Mr. Yasuhara?”
Hajime glared at him, his eyes sharp and angry. “I’m the same as you, Yorito. I want to understand what’s happening here so I can figure out what to do with myself going forward.”
“What?”
“Before the Yellow Raven, that bastard, loses patience with me, I need to figure out who I can trust. That’s what I mean.”
“Halt,” a cold voice said from behind them.
Yorito turned and saw Karyō standing against the guard post wall. He flinched from surprise. Karyō wasn’t supposed to be here, was he?
“Karyō,” Yorito said.
Karyō shot him a brief, displeased look at the use of his real name.
“Going any further would interfere with our work. So stop.” Karyō paused. “I cannot understand why you are doing this.”
Karyō was supposed to be operating quietly in the background, managing Hajime’s security from a distance. Yorito had no idea why he had come out here himself.
Karyō’s attention wasn’t on Yorito, but Chihaya. “I’ll ask you to stop as well. Why are you doing whatever the human tells you to do?”
“I am his bodyguard,” Chihaya said. “It’s not my job to determine whether he’s behaving correctly or not.” He held Karyō’s gaze.
“Did you kill the Kuisaru?” Hajime asked Karyō.
Yorito translated.
Karyō’s expression tightened briefly, but he answered, “The Yamauchishu who fought the Kuisaru left for the Imperial Court this morning with the eyewitness. They need to submit their testimony and an official report. I was put in charge of cleanup.” He shrugged. “I happened to be near the scene during the attack, though.”
It was possible that another order had come down from above regarding the Kuisaru situation. Or perhaps he had decided to act because Hajime was behaving so unpredictably.
“I want to talk to the people who fought the Kuisaru. Arrange it for me,” Hajime said.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible.” Karyō shook his head curtly. He raised an eyebrow. “Keep asking for things like that, and you’ll put me in a foul mood.”
The phrasing was so pointedly rude that rendering it literally in Japanese felt almost impossible. Yorito softened Karyō’s phrasing when he translated.
“He’s saying… that from here on, he’d like you to go through the Yellow Raven directly.”
Hajime and Karyō regarded each other for a moment.
Hajime lowered his gaze first. “All right, I’ll back off.”
“I appreciate it,” Karyō said. With exquisitely polite contempt, Karyō inclined his head and withdrew to another room of the guard outpost. Hajime watched him go.
“Is he a colleague of yours?”
“He is. He’s my junior officer.”
“So he works closely with the Yellow Raven?”
“He worked closely with him while I was studying abroad, yes. The Yellow Raven trusts him.”
“I see.”
When they left the guard station, Flourishing had reached the scene of the young Yellow Raven delivering the killing blow to the leader of the Kuisaru.
On the stage, a golden sword with a red cord swinging from its hilt caught the torchlight and flashed. The Kuisaru performer—masked and draped in fur—collapsed with a heavy thud.
***
By the time they returned to the inn, it was almost dawn. Hajime slept until well into the afternoon.
The previous day had been nothing but travel. Casting sidelong glances at Yorito and Chihaya, who took turns keeping watch, Hajime showed no shame in indulging himself in a long, luxurious nap.
By the time they had eaten, dressed, and were ready to depart, it was well past noon. Their destination today was in the northwest of Souke Territory, where the embankment work sites were located.
A large lake curved along the entire eastern side of Souke Territory’s central mountain in a crescent shape. The water flowing down from the mountain’s many waterfalls collected there, then continued out as a wide river into the other territories. Agriculture was not Souke Territory’s focus; such activities were usually handled by provincial governors in Yamauchi’s other territories. Souke Territory prospered as a place of politics and commerce. The lake was mainly used to transport goods. No one had made much active use of it beyond that.
The Yellow Raven’s policies were changing Souke Territory, to no one’s surprise. He was building in more agricultural capacity by reclaiming swampland around the lake. As part of that effort, neglected lowlands within the territory were being reclaimed as fields. The large-scale construction of waterways and embankments was underway across the region.
The work site chosen for today’s inspection was the largest of its kind. Seen from above, the embankment’s basin was wide and open, with good visibility to the bottom. There was no water in it at all yet. Horses moved in teams, pulling heavy logs and quarried stone.
As Yorito searched for a good place to descend, the chime of an automatic clock rang out across the work site. These clocks were new imports from the human world. Their presence here conveyed a good deal about the scale of the investment being made.
They arrived at the work site later than scheduled, of course. A neatly dressed site manager was waiting for them at the crest of the highest part of the embankment. Yorito rode up to him and apologized for the delay.
“No need to apologize, sir,” the man said with a broad smile. “Clear Mirror Temple instructed us to accommodate you whenever you arrived. Welcome to the work site, sir.” The manager was a senior officer in the Aerial Army of Heaven. He led the river defense commission and was familiar with the work being done at this site and several others.
“We’d like to see the horses,” Yorito said.
The manager cheerfully gave them permission to go down to the work site and observe things for themselves. He acted as escort, leading the way.
“Originally, this kind of work fell to the Aerial Army of Heaven alone,” the manager said.
They approached the bottom of the embankment. A worker was wedging a log under an enormous rock. A large number of horses moved together to shift it, inching the great boulder forward through the mud and calling out to one another with short, rough sounds.
The manager watched them with an approving eye. “When we first began the embankment, we were badly shorthanded and the work moved slowly. With so many horses from the Valley, the work has become much easier for everyone. This embankment is nearly complete. The horses have been a tremendous help.” He smiled.
In the center of the artificial basin, there was a stable and lodgings built for the Aerial Army of Heaven soldiers who looked after the horses. When the embankment was finished and the basin flooded, this area would sink beneath the water. More than a hundred horses were being kept there at the moment.
The horses tasked with carrying sandbags were somewhat smaller and had three legs. Most of the large ones pulling quarried stone were two-legged.
The third leg was the source of a Yatagarasu’s power to transform. Those who had been made into horses willingly had the base of their third leg bound with a special cord by whoever held their contract. Unless the contract holder untied it, the horse could no longer take human form. If the third leg was severed entirely while in raven form, the ability to take human form was lost forever.
“Naturally, we take great care of the horses. They’re essential workers,” the manager said with pride. “Their health is managed carefully. They are given proper rest, and any injuries are treated promptly.”
He had moved a little distance away from the stables when Tobi said in an undertone, “If I’d been born a few years earlier, I probably would have ended up here.”
Yorito wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. He remained silent as they observed horses carrying stone all around them. Aerial Army of Heaven soldiers patrolled in groups, appearing bored. They carried swords at their hips and bamboo whips in their hands. The horses had been forced into performing hard labor, their legs severed or bound, their human forms taken from them, and their voices gone. Unlike the women at the factory, they didn’t even have the right to speak for themselves.
Yorito felt vaguely nauseated as he observed the work site. They were criminals, he told himself. A few days ago he would have said that out loud and with confidence.
But he wasn’t confident in his beliefs anymore. The words wouldn’t come.
***
After finishing the inspection, the group spent the night at Clear Mirror Temple. They returned to the Underground the following morning.
The temple guards accompanied them as far as the Underground’s entrance. They gave Hajime a message from Natsuka: “If anything comes up, we’ll lend you guards again at any time.”
When Yorito climbed back to the top floor of the tower Tobi had given them for the first time in two days, he felt like he’d come home. It was strange to realize that he’d missed the place. Narrow strips of morning light shone through arrow slits, illuminating fine dust particles in the air.
“Hey, Red Cord,” Tobi said. He hadn’t addressed Yorito since they’d left the work site. “You said that if I left here and saw the Yellow Raven’s policies for myself, I’d understand things better. That I’d see how merciful he was. That it’d be a lesson for me.”
He stood in a square of yellow sunlight, freshly washed. His hair was carefully combed and tied behind his head. He looked different now than when they’d first arrived—younger, somehow, and more ordinary.
“I went and saw them, just like you said. But I don’t understand things at all.” His voice was quiet and sorrowful. “Why are my people suffering like that? Did they do such terrible things that they had to have their legs cut off and work like that for the rest of their lives?”
“The horses are not being treated poorly,” Yorito said.
“That doesn’t answer my question. I’m asking why they were forced to become horses in the first place.” He took a step closer to Yorito. “I don’t understand that. Not at all.”
“You saw the Kuisaru attack. This is no time for the Yatagarasu to be fighting amongst themselves.”
“You called them horses—just livestock—a moment ago, and now you call them Yatagarasu. Don’t you think that’s strange?”
“I never meant to create that distinction,” Yorito said. “We are under threat from the Kuisaru and the waning power of the mountain god. The labor those horses are performing will save all the other Yatagarasu from such threats.”
“So that’s how you’ve decided to justify it to yourself. You think it’s acceptable to turn them into horses and work them into the ground for the common good? Would any amount of suffering be too much to trivialize with an excuse like that? Do you really think that the common good outweighs the suffering of thousands of innocent people?”
Tobi’s voice was getting rougher. “Who is going to save the horses working there? If something else goes wrong someday, will the nobles look the other way no matter how much the poor suffer?”
“That’s not what I’m saying,” Yorito said.
“That’s exactly what you’ve been saying this whole time! There’s no mercy in any of this,” Tobi said, his eyes bright with tears. “And I don’t understand it!”
He ran out of the room, taking the steps down two at a time.
Yorito reached after him, then slowly lowered his hand. He had no words of comfort to give the boy.
“You made him cry,” Hajime said. He sat in the corner on a straw mat. He’d watched their whole exchange silently. “Do you know why?”
Yorito was irritated, and for whatever reason, Hajime had decided to needle him further. “Enlighten me.”
“Come on. You’re annoyed; it’s obvious. What happened to the composure you had two days ago, right here in this room, when you were talking about how wonderful the Yellow Raven is?”
Two days ago, Yorito was a different person. He knew that about himself, but he hadn’t had the time or the space to examine how much he’d changed.
Hajime looked at Yorito with amusement for a moment longer, then got to his feet. “I’ll go.”
“Where are you going? Don’t wander off on your own.”
“I just want to use the facilities, right over there. Besides, you could use some time to cool your head.”
He left. Yorito suspected that Hajime was actually going to find Tobi.
Chihaya, who’d watched everything from a quiet corner, let out an exaggerated sigh. “You know you’re wrong. The Yellow Raven’s not merciful or benevolent. He never was.”
“Do you have complaints about the Yellow Raven?”
“Plenty.”
Yorito frowned. Over these past few days, he felt like he’d gotten to know Chihaya at least a little. There was no longer open hostility between them, but it was possible that Chihaya was a traitor. Yorito hadn’t investigated him thoroughly enough yet to say that he truly knew who Chihaya was.
Yorito’s doubt must have shown on his face.
Chihaya’s expression went blank. “You still don’t get it, do you? They manage the Underground in three separate groups. If any of the groups try something, the others are punished. This is a hostage situation.”
“Hostages?” The word felt heavy in his throat.
“Children, women, and men. If one group steps out of line, another pays the price. If the men revolt, the women and children are used as leverage. If the women resist, the food supply to the children is interrupted or reduced.” He paused. “The Yellow Raven doesn’t feed the Underground’s children out of the goodness of his heart. He does it because it benefits the imperial government.”
“How?” Yorito asked.
“This place serves two purposes. The children are hostages, and when they grow up, they’ll become horses at the work sites or laborers in the workshops. It’s a self-sustaining system.” Chihaya said all this like he was bored. “Remember the horses we saw yesterday? Some had three legs, didn’t they? Those were the older children Tobi mentioned. When they’re old enough, they’re taken and made into horses. Since they haven’t committed crimes serious enough to legally warrant having their legs severed, the binding method is used instead.”
That was why they were treated differently from orphans in the city. There was no reason to give these children a future. There was no future but forced labor for them.
“Natsuka said it, didn’t he? That the Yellow Raven is a slave to necessity. His policies are bloodless and rational. That doesn’t make them merciful.” He scowled. “I hate that about him. Everything he does makes sense, but it’s also awful. That’s him in a nutshell.”
There was a silence.
“The attack on Mr. Yasuhara was probably engineered by the Yellow Raven,” Chihaya said as he looked out of an arrow slit. “It was a threat designed to frighten him into handing over his rights quickly. I can’t prove that, of course, but I I wouldn’t be surprised if that were true.”
“You’re saying it was all staged?”
The Yamauchishu who had been attacked by horses were Yorito’s colleagues. His friends, seniors, and juniors. Some of them were seriously injured.
“The attackers were from the Underground. Stop condemning him based on speculation,” Yorito said, his voice tight and angry.
“I’m saying he’s the kind of man who could do that,” Chihaya said. “I didn’t say he did. I don’t know if he did that or not.”
“Some of his policies might look cruel from the outside, but his larger aim is to protect people.”
“Does that include Tobi, the women, and the horses?” Chihaya asked, raising an eyebrow.
“If Yamauchi collapses, even they won’t come through unscathed. So yes. Everything he does is for their sake, too.”
Chihaya was quiet for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with venom. “Did you look closely at the wounds on the villagers killed by the Kuisaru?”
“What?”
“They were clean cuts. Completely different from the wounds I saw during the war, when the Kuisaru actually attacked us. Kuisaru rarely carry swords. Their weapons are daggers made of sharp black stone.”
Yorito’s eyes widened in alarm. Chihaya had witnessed the great war firsthand, so he knew what Kuisaru attacks looked like. A cold dread settled in his chest.
“No—you’re overthinking it,” Yorito said without conviction.
Chihaya looked at him steadily. “I have a younger sister,” he said.
Yorito blinked.
Chihaya continued speaking in the same flat tone he usually used, without acknowledging the sudden change in topic. “When I was at the Keisōin, both my sister and I were owned by a noble family. I was told that if I didn’t perform to their satisfaction, she would be made into a courtesan.” There was no emotion in his voice at all. He might have been speaking of someone else. “A fellow student at the Keisōin—a young lord of the Saike family—learned of my circumstances and wanted to help. With the Yellow Raven’s assistance, he arranged to buy out my sister’s contract and free us both.”
Even Chihaya, who resented nobles deeply, had been grateful. The idea that nobles could save people instead of harming them had been novel to him at the time.
“I only found out later that the Yellow Raven had owned my sister’s contract for almost the entire time it existed,” Chihaya said. “He hid that. He let me believe he’d save her if I supported him. He let me think she was in danger, and when he presented her contract to me, he made it look like he’d rescued her. But it was all staged.”
“What did you do when you found out?” Yorito asked.
“Nothing.” Chihaya shook his head. “By that time, I knew him too well. I wasn’t surprised by what he’d done. Quite the opposite. That kind of thing is his hallmark. He acts that way all the time.”
Chihaya told Yorito that the Saike nobleman had known nothing of Yellow Raven’s intentions. He’d been a well-meaning young man trying desperately to help a friend. His goodwill had been entirely genuine.
“He helped us out of kindness, not knowing what the Yellow Raven had already done,” Chihaya said softly. “Why do you think he went to all the trouble of doing all that?”
Yorito had no answer for him.
Chihaya’s smile looked like it cost him something vital. “Control. When the whole affair came to light, it didn’t matter. Even if I’d wanted to distrust the Yellow Raven, I’d been working for him so long that learning the truth changed nothing. That nobleman who helped me had become a stranger to me by then.” His tone remained even. “His goals and the Yellow Raven’s were the same. I can’t do anything about it. Control was never mine to begin with.” He sighed, exhausted. “I hate his methods so much they make me sick, but I still can’t betray him. He made sure of it.”
The Yellow Raven offered gifts with one hand and death with the other. He treated those around him like pieces on a game board, not like people.
“Why are you telling me this?” Yorito asked. Why would Chihaya say all this to the devoted follower of a man he despised?
“Because you remind me of him,” Chihaya said.
“I remind you of the Yellow Raven?”
“No.” Chihaya’s expression became speculative. He smiled awkwardly. “My dead friend. That’s who you remind me of.”
The silence that followed stretched between them, as taut as a bowstring.
Yorito wished that Hajime would come back. “Mr. Yasuhara has been gone for a long time, hasn’t he?” He’d assumed that Hajime had gone to find Tobi, but that was just an assumption.
Yorito went downstairs and checked the latrine. Hajime wasn’t there.
“Mr. Yasuhara?” Yorito asked, pitching his voice to carry. “Tobi?”
Neither Hajime nor Tobi responded.
Chihaya had followed Yorito down the stairs, as silent as a wraith.
“If he went anywhere, it can only be down,” Yorito said. “Further into the tunnels.”
“Move,” Chihaya said. He broke into a run beside Yorito.
They went down the stairs fast, calling out as they went. They saw no children—none at all.
On the lowest level, the elderly and injured adults had been bound with rope and gagged.
Chihaya stopped and looked around, hands on hips. “We’ve been had.”
***
Hajime followed Tobi down the stairs a little way and found the boy sniffling with his back turned. He tilted his head. “Why are you pretending to cry?”
Tobi stopped crying immediately.
“I’ve been wondering about you for a while. You understand most of what I’m saying, don’t you?” Hajime asked.
Tobi spun around in one smooth motion, caught Hajime’s wrist, and twisted it behind his back as he moved behind him. Something sharp and cold pressed against the side of Hajime’s neck.
“Don’t move. And stay quiet.” There was no trace of tears in Tobi’s voice.
Hajime didn’t resist. He’d expected something like this to happen. “You were working with the people who attacked us,” he said.
“I’m sorry.” Tobi’s apology sounded sincere. He urged Hajime forward, and they went down the stairs in silence.
At the bottom of the steps, many children held their breath in the dark, waiting.
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