Chapter 15
Winter Court, 1236 – Kyuden Hida
Harun awoke with a gasp, sitting up on his futon and feeling the cold sweat clinging to his face and body. The grim stone walls of Kyuden Hida offered no response or consolation. They had watched over the nightmares of samurai for generations, and Harun’s were minor compared to the horrors they had beheld. But the bushi’s dreams still had claws buried in his mind that refused to let him go. He sank his head into his hands with a groan.
So real. Even awake, with his eyes open, he could see before him the corpse-littered streets of Toshi Ranbo. Bright colors and brave banners spoiled in thick gray mud. There were places where the bodies of the dead themselves formed the walls that needed to be torn down to get further into the city. To rout out Yuhmi’s commanders, to try to get to the demon himself.
That had been in vain. The oni had fled already.
But that did not mean he had not left ‘surprises’ for those coming after him. Koharu. Sayaka. Harun had forced them through regardless. This was war. There was no choice but victory. There was nothing else left. Arahime.
When the Imperial Legionnaire had come upon that slaughtered unit of Mirumoto bushi…heard that taunting laughter....I did what I needed to do. I ended it. If he told himself that often enough, would that make it true?
The bodies. His hand on the tsuka of his katana. A drift of ash. The burst of sound. White hair, kabuki paint, black blood trickling from the corner of a mouth still laughing insanely as he died.
Saying it again would never make it true for his father. Harun had seen so many different roles that Kakita Karasu had filled in his life. The laughing father who swung him around so fast as a little boy. The patient teacher who carefully instructed him in the lessons he would need to win entry into the Kakita Academy. The brilliant duelist who danced the sword with pure focus and control. The lonely husband who watched his wife depart, once again, on paths unknown, wrapped in a cheap saffron robe and head covered with a basket so that she would travel as nameless monk. Judicious general, listening to the plans of his strategists and deciding how to deploy the Imperial Legions. And as Emerald Champion, declaring the sentence and weight of the law. Declaring someone’s execution. In all those roles, Harun had never seen him as angry as he was after Toshi Ranbo.
After his victory.
After his disgrace.
Harun held his aching head, fingers combing through his curly black hair. There were only a few hours left until dawn. Dawn meant another day of winter court. Another day of watching the Emperor, distant as the moon, aloft on his cold stone pedestal. Another day where the Chosen looked down silently at the war-weary eyes of the Emperor’s court full of pleading petitioners. A court in waiting, holding its breath. For something. An end. A world to be reborn. Anything. A future.
But there was no future for him. Not anymore.
The ocean claimed his future two months ago.
Now there were only nightmares.
Winter Court, 1236 – Kyuden Hida
Harun awoke with a gasp, sitting up on his futon and feeling the cold sweat clinging to his face and body. The grim stone walls of Kyuden Hida offered no response or consolation. They had watched over the nightmares of samurai for generations, and Harun’s were minor compared to the horrors they had beheld. But the bushi’s dreams still had claws buried in his mind that refused to let him go. He sank his head into his hands with a groan.
So real. Even awake, with his eyes open, he could see before him the corpse-littered streets of Toshi Ranbo. Bright colors and brave banners spoiled in thick gray mud. There were places where the bodies of the dead themselves formed the walls that needed to be torn down to get further into the city. To rout out Yuhmi’s commanders, to try to get to the demon himself.
That had been in vain. The oni had fled already.
But that did not mean he had not left ‘surprises’ for those coming after him. Koharu. Sayaka. Harun had forced them through regardless. This was war. There was no choice but victory. There was nothing else left. Arahime.
When the Imperial Legionnaire had come upon that slaughtered unit of Mirumoto bushi…heard that taunting laughter....I did what I needed to do. I ended it. If he told himself that often enough, would that make it true?
The bodies. His hand on the tsuka of his katana. A drift of ash. The burst of sound. White hair, kabuki paint, black blood trickling from the corner of a mouth still laughing insanely as he died.
Saying it again would never make it true for his father. Harun had seen so many different roles that Kakita Karasu had filled in his life. The laughing father who swung him around so fast as a little boy. The patient teacher who carefully instructed him in the lessons he would need to win entry into the Kakita Academy. The brilliant duelist who danced the sword with pure focus and control. The lonely husband who watched his wife depart, once again, on paths unknown, wrapped in a cheap saffron robe and head covered with a basket so that she would travel as nameless monk. Judicious general, listening to the plans of his strategists and deciding how to deploy the Imperial Legions. And as Emerald Champion, declaring the sentence and weight of the law. Declaring someone’s execution. In all those roles, Harun had never seen him as angry as he was after Toshi Ranbo.
After his victory.
After his disgrace.
Harun held his aching head, fingers combing through his curly black hair. There were only a few hours left until dawn. Dawn meant another day of winter court. Another day of watching the Emperor, distant as the moon, aloft on his cold stone pedestal. Another day where the Chosen looked down silently at the war-weary eyes of the Emperor’s court full of pleading petitioners. A court in waiting, holding its breath. For something. An end. A world to be reborn. Anything. A future.
But there was no future for him. Not anymore.
The ocean claimed his future two months ago.
Now there were only nightmares.
