KAZUCHIYO: Lord of the East

By Melanie Schoen

With the changing of the seasons, Kazuchiyo's campaign in the west is brought to a temporary close. He and his lovers, seeking recuperation and renown, begin the march home, but not to Aritaka's stronghold of Gyoe. Lord Aritaka instead bids them come to Suyama Province, to

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Schoen
• Release date: Mar 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798869197634

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Book 3 of the KAZUCHIYO series

BY

MELANIE SCHOEN

Copyright © 2021 Melanie Schoen

All rights reserved.

Publish by author

No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and co-incidental.

Cover art by Erion Makuo

Typography by Natalia Junqueira

Edited by Jessica Hatch of Hatch Editorial Services

THE CLANS OF SHUYUN

Sakka Province

Lord Aritaka Souyuu

Aritaka Kazumune also known as Kazuchiyo

Commander Ebara Motonobu, also known as Yagi-douji

Amai

Aritaka Mahiro

General Rakuteru

Commander Rakuteru Ginta

Tomoto

Master Iomori no Jun

Aritaka Sourei

Lady Aritaka Sourei

Aritaka Munehira

Lady Aritaka Fuuho

General Waseba Usaburou

Waseba Houshin

Lady Satsumi

Suyama Province

General Zaiga Tonehiro

Tatsutomi Shigeyuki

Kibaku Province

Lord Koedzuka Danzou

General Oihata Naoya

Lady Purnima

Kaname Province

Master Mutsuyama no Shishio

General Oomiyari Jakusai

Contents

Chapter One 1

CHAPTER TWO 23

CHAPTER THREE 38

CHAPTER FOUR 49

CHAPTER FIVE 58

CHAPTER SIX 75

CHAPTER SEVEN 91

CHAPTER EIGHT 109

CHAPTER NINE 127

CHAPTER TEN 148

CHAPTER ELEVEN 173

CHAPTER TWELVE 191

CHAPTER THIRTEEN 206

CHAPTER FOURTEEN 218

CHAPTER FIFTEEN 238

CHAPTER SIXTEEN 248

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN 261

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN 273

CHAPTER NINETEEN 290

CHAPTER TWENTY 304

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 311

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE 326

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE 342

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR 353

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE 366

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX 373

Chapter One

In the autumn of 1488, Kazuchiyo once again stepped foot upon Chibatake Bridge.

More than a year had passed since his last visit, when he had led the army of Aritaka Souyuu to victory against the Kibaku samurai. In that time, the heavy spring rains had scrubbed its planks of the rusty sheen that had, in the aftermath of those battles, earned it a new moniker: Chidarake-bashi, the Bloodstained Bridge. Though the river it crossed flowed peacefully and the surrounding forests of bamboo swayed in gentle serenity, an eerie pall surrounded and silenced the army of a thousand men at whose center Kazuchiyo rode. This once-idyllic entry point to their homeland now stank of death.

Kazuchiyo cast a glance at Yagi, who rode alongside him. His formidable lover, ever stoic, had betrayed very little of his inner thoughts over the days of travel since they had left Rongi Castle. Clad in his full, polished armor, a sash bearing the word Champion crossing his chest, and his sharp eyes trained unflinchingly ahead, he looked every inch the proud warrior revisiting the site of his greatest martial triumph. How many samurai and their foot soldiers had fallen to his spear on that bridge, no one could rightly say, as each retelling exaggerated the last. Even so, every soul crossing then felt the weight and the awe of those bloody deaths, whether or not they had personally witnessed the slaughter.

Kazuchiyo, of course, had. He shivered as his horse, Hashikiri, passed hesitantly over the very spot where he had rushed to Yagi’s aid at the end of that gruesome campaign. Yagi, he said, though then he hesitated, finding it difficult to choose his words. Are you all right?

Fine, Yagi grunted; he carefully and self-consciously adjusted his right arm in the victory sash that had, since Rongi, disguised his need for a sling.

I mean… Though Kazuchiyo had asked often after the state of Yagi’s injuries during their travels, that concern was not at the forefront of his mind then. How much do you remember? he asked instead.

Yagi continued to stare straight ahead, though he did seem to take Kazuchiyo’s meaning that time. Not a lot, he admitted. I remember you, though.

Kazuchiyo smiled at that, relieved.

What about me? piped up Amai, who had taken to walking alongside Yagi’s horse. He loosely held Yagi’s ankle not unlike a child following their parent in a crowd, though Kazuchiyo sensed he was more accurately hoping to be the first to know if Yagi’s stamina was wearing thin. I was here, too.

You were behind me, Yagi retorted. I wouldn’t have seen you anyway.

Amai conceded with a chuckle, but Kazuchiyo did not mistake the subtle wince of disappointment at the corner of his mouth. Then next time I guess I’ll just have to be out in front, where you’ll be sure not to miss me.

‘Next time’ is a long way off, Kazuchiyo reminded them, uncertain in that moment how else to ease the conversation along. Let’s not be so eager to jump back into battle. This campaign season has been long enough.

His words hung heavily in the air. Ahead of them, serving as custodian of the command unit, General Zaiga Tonehiro straightened in his saddle. Despite the long march and the bloody battles preceding it, his strict poise and the tension of his fellow samurai boldly declared their response: the warriors of Suyama had plenty of fight left.

Nine days had passed since the ending of the Siege of Rongi. With the shogun’s dogs fled back into the west and the fall harvest underway, Kazuchiyo and his allies had separated back to their homelands to tend their fields, honor their dead, and prepare for what would doubtless be another season of war to follow. However, it was not to the grand keeps of Gyoe that Kazuchiyo and his entourage specifically had been recalled; Lord Aritaka, his father by title if not by lineage, had summoned him to Tengakubou. The mountain-settled castle served as Suyama Province’s capital, ancestral home of the once-mighty Tatsutomi clan, and bore the distinction of being Kazuchiyo’s own birthplace. Kazuchiyo had not laid eyes on the place in six years.

Having crossed Chibatake Bridge, the army headed deeper into Suyama’s bamboo-forested territory. It would take several more days of travel to reach Tengakubou, and in that time Kazuchiyo prayed to temper his composure into iron. To be welcomed to his proper home not by his family, but by the enemy who had stolen it from him, was a deliberate cruelty that I myself could not have borne with civility, let alone with grace. But for the sake of his allies, his young brother, and perhaps even the sake of a nation, Kazuchiyo had no choice but to answer the call with obedience. Only once there, with the full circumstances of what the land of the Red Dragon had become laid bare, could he forge his own path.

After an hour’s travel through swaying bamboo, the forest released them into an open field. It happened sooner than expected and was revealed to be the result of a clearing a hundred meters deep, which had been carved out and now surrounded the squat compound of Sabi Castle—a tactical excavation meant to correct years of neglect. The castle itself had not changed very much, if at all. As the army approached, it parted formation to allow Kazuchiyo to the front so that he would be first to accept Sabi’s welcome.

Mahiro, already at the fore atop her fine steed, Suzumekage, clucked over the improved terrain as Kazuchiyo joined her. That Waseba has at least half a head on him, maybe, she said. Still a sorry lot, though.

Ahead, the gates had been thrown open, and two dozen soldiers lined the path leading to the interior. General Waseba Usaburou, Sabi’s commander, awaited them in fine dress just inside the central courtyard. As Kazuchiyo drew within range, he could see that Usaburou had also not changed in the year since they’d last crossed paths; his mouth was twisted in an uncomfortable grimace at the sight of them.

Lord Kazumune, welcome, Usaburou greeted him once Kazuchiyo was within the gates, obligation twisting his pursed lips into an attempt at a smile. He bowed deeply at the waist. We are honored to host you and your soldiers. Our hospitality is lacking compared to what you deserve, but it is yours.

I thank you, General. Kazuchiyo dismounted and allowed one of Sabi’s attendants to take the reins from him. We plan only to stay the night and carry on in the morning. My father awaits us at Tengakubou.

Yes, indeed, replied Usaburou, his smile easing with relief. The lord’s chamber is prepared for you, and the baths are hot, should you like to partake in one before supper.

I think I will. Kazuchiyo’s gaze swept over the keep, noting the topmost window that indicated the lord’s chambers. Though, if you don’t mind, I’d prefer the room I used last year. Lady Mahiro is better suited to the lord’s chambers.

Mahiro puffed herself up, chin lifted defiantly against Usaburou as if there was any possibility he would refuse—which, naturally, he did not dare. Of course, he said quickly. We’ll make those arrangements straight away.

Kazuchiyo felt someone step up alongside him and bow shortly, a simple gesture which nevertheless was so stiffly delivered, and with such unabashed hostility, that it gave Kazuchiyo a chill. He kept his own manners still and civil as he glanced at General Zaiga beside him.

Waseba, Zaiga greeted their host, his face beneath his helmet flat and cold. It’s been some time.

Usaburou gulped, unable to prevent his grimace from forming again. General Zaiga. It has indeed. He leaned back as if fighting the instinct to flee. You are very welcome, and your men will be well tended.

My men don’t require your hospitality, Zaiga replied, and he turned to Kazuchiyo. With your permission, we will make camp outside the castle.

Mahiro scoffed mightily. Outside in that rough mess, with shorn bamboo poking your asses all night? Don’t be ridiculous. Sabi has plenty of room.

Usaburou and Zaiga shifted uncomfortably; if not for their audience, I can only imagine Zaiga would have struck the man down where he stood. I would not wish to inconvenience Sir Waseba so close to the harvest, said Zaiga. I’m certain he’s sent many men back to their homesteads. Those remaining have duties that don’t need to be neglected for our sake.

Your kind consideration is appreciated, Usaburou replied tersely.

Ridiculous, Mahiro huffed, but Kazuchiyo drew himself up with a deep breath, gathering everyone’s attention.

General Zaiga, you have my permission to camp beyond the walls, he said. Though I expect you and your men to be ready to depart first thing in the morning. As you say, we don’t wish to trespass here any longer than necessary.

Zaiga bowed to him. Of course, my lord.

Understandably, Usaburou added. I’m certain that our lord Aritaka will be eager to receive you.

Zaiga’s manners again tensed as he straightened from his bow, the thin wire of his tolerance very nearly a visible thread stretching between the two of them. Kazuchiyo was shaken to see such obvious hatred stewing within the man he had always known to be a measured and compassionate uncle. Good evening, General, he said, his tone a warning.

Zaiga nodded, and with one final look to Usaburou, he turned and stalked back through the gates. Kazuchiyo watched him go, relieved to see that his brother, Shigeyuki, had remained outside with the soldiers, his face mask in place.

If you’ll excuse me, said Usaburou, a sheen of sweat on his upper lip, I’ll leave you now to finish the preparations.

Yes, of course. After a bath I’ll take my supper with Lady Mahiro in her chamber before turning in for the evening.

Usaburou bowed and then hurried off. Mahiro glared after him, her face still screwed up with confusion and irritation. Well, that was dramatic, she muttered. What had their loincloths so twisted?

Kazuchiyo let out a slow breath. They both used to serve the Red Dragon, he said quietly. General Waseba chose to side with our father at Shimegahara and afterward. General Zaiga did not.

Oh. Mahiro shifted her weight back and forth and flushed uncomfortably, though with the guilt Usaburou himself had not been able to muster. Um…

Why don’t you go see the rooms? Kazuchiyo suggested. Like I said, we can share supper together.

Oh—right. Okay. Mahiro bobbed her head, grateful for a swift end to the conversation, and started toward the keep. Within moments she was shouting for wine and for attendants to help her out of her armor, seemingly restored in spirit. As men and women hurried to assist her, Kazuchiyo glanced about the courtyard. The two generals had left a great deal of tension in their wake; Sabi’s soldiers stood together in clumps, whispering, their attention fixed on their countrymen beyond the gate. Those of Zaiga’s soldiers beyond likewise cast hateful glares at the castle and its walls. One could almost imagine a siege springing to life between the two forces at any moment.

If this is how your uncle reacts to a Waseba, I can’t imagine how he’ll fare against Aritaka, said Amai as he approached, leading Yagi’s horse with Yagi himself yet in the saddle.

Kazuchiyo sighed. I pray we won’t find out. Nothing good will come of it. He frowned at Zaiga’s soldiers beginning their preparations to camp beyond the walls. Even hearing about this might sharpen Aritaka’s paranoia. I am glad, though, for Zaiga’s insistence. If Waseba happened to see my brother he would recognize him for sure.

Do you want me outside the walls with them? Yagi asked.

No, Kazuchiyo replied immediately, though he then tried to soften his manners from command to invitation. No, both of you come to the baths with me. I don’t know what awaits us at Tengakubou; we might as well enjoy a proper room together tonight.

All right, said Yagi, an effort to steel himself hardening in his face. Kazuchiyo only realized too late what he had asked of his lover; Yagi slipped his arm out of his sash so that he could grip the saddle with both hands for a stable dismount. Though his face betrayed no ounce of pain, Kazuchiyo withered internally, knowing what a struggle it must have been for him to appear at ease beneath the eyes of Usaburou’s men. At least among Zaiga’s company, his limitations were by then well-known and any resulting gossip relentlessly silenced.

I’m sorry, Kazuchiyo whispered, but Yagi shook his head and stubbornly kept his arm out of the sash, proving to Sabi that he had no need of it.

Before the three of them could move away, someone cleared their throat behind them. Kazuchiyo turned and frowned to see Master Iomori approaching, her expression blandly curious beneath her folded straw hat. And me, Lord Kazumune? she asked. Where would you have me?

You are my father’s most trusted advisor, Kazuchiyo replied. I would not presume to order you anywhere.

How many times must I remind you? Iomori’s lip twitched with amusement not quite befitting a smile as she closed the final distance between them. You are my lord’s son, and it is my duty to serve you.

So she had always claimed. Though onmyouji Iomori had never given Kazuchiyo particular reason to doubt her, his recently claimed knowledge concerning her profession demanded new caution. In that case, he said, I’d like for you to join me for supper with Mahiro. I’m certain General Waseba can spare a room for you in the castle.

Iomori bowed her head. As you wish.

Kazuchiyo and his two lovers found a momentary reprieve in Sabi’s familiar bathhouse. They scrubbed the road sweat from their skin and enjoyed soaking weary joints. As Kazuchiyo cleaned and redressed Yagi’s wounded arm, Amai sought to amuse them by reenacting their last visit to this particular bath, when Kazuchiyo’s foster brother and nemesis Hidemune had stormed in, hoping to catch them in treachery.

I’ll never forget it! Amai declared, gathering up to his full height—such as it was—and squaring his shoulders to the entrance. Come and get him yourself! he snarled, in the best imitation of Yagi he could muster.

Kazuchiyo smiled while Yagi grumbled in embarrassment, but in truth he could find very little humor in recollections of Hidemune. In his mind’s eye he could only see the man in his pitiable, final moments, his head tumbling from his shoulders while Lord Aritaka looked impassively on.

I could have swooned! Amai carried on, laughing as he shook himself off and joined them in the tub. I do believe that’s when I first fell for you, my dear oni.

Fell for me? Yagi repeated, confused.

Well, yes. Amai squirmed closer, leaning into Yagi’s good shoulder. You were just so forceful. And naked. Though he smirked with mischief, Kazuchiyo did not miss the subtle twist of uncertainty at its edges. In defense of me. What about you?

Me?

Yeah. Amai cocked his head to the side. You didn’t like me when we first met. Even I can admit that his attempts to appear only mildly curious were adorable. When Yagi snorted, he added, Admittedly, with good reason. But I don’t think I’ve ever asked you when that changed.

Yagi’s face screwed up, and his jaw worked as if actively binding the answer behind his teeth. Does it matter? he eventually grumbled. I like you just fine now.

Amai scoffed, but as he started to lean away, Yagi stretched his arm along the wooden edge of the bath as if in invitation for them to remain side by side. Kazuchiyo watched with growing amusement as Amai settled into Yagi with ears red and face conflicted. He was beginning to understand and appreciate how Amai had found so much entertainment in his own romantic fumblings.

Well, Amai huffed, I suppose that’s something. When he noticed Kazuchiyo watching him, he blushed darker still. You be quiet.

I said nothing at all, Kazuchiyo teased, trying not to grin openly as Yagi frowned between the two of them.

Once the trio was refreshed, they summoned fresh clothing from Sabi’s attendants and made their way to the keep. Amai did not accompany them the entire way, insisting that he wanted a look about the castle and to make sure the two armies were on their best behavior.

It wouldn’t do to have a lowly shinobi like me dining in the lord’s chambers, he said as he split off from them, and I don’t think Iomori would care for my company anyway.

Kazuchiyo suspected that Amai was seeking only some reprieve from his embarrassment. As you like, he replied as innocently as he could manage, which still earned him a glare from Amai as he departed.

What’s gotten into him? Yagi grumbled as they climbed the stairs to the top of the keep.

Kazuchiyo found he could not be as coy as his impish lover. He likes you, he said plainly. He just wants to know you like him, too.

Yagi considered that with a thoughtful mumble. Well. Once my arm is healed up, I’ll make sure he knows it plenty. Kazuchiyo blushed at the thought and was glad there were no servants around to overhear them.

They sat down to supper with Mahiro and Iomori: grilled trout fished from the Fukugawa River and rice with freshly harvested chestnuts. Mahiro was unusually subdued throughout the meal, though she drank plenty. Kazuchiyo kept much of his attention on Iomori. Despite their many days of travel, he had found very few chances to speak with her in private, and he had no end of questions for her.

It fell unexpectedly to Yagi to try to prompt conversation. Kazu, tell us about Tengakubou, he said abruptly. You’re the only one of us who’s been there. He looked at Iomori. Unless you… ?

No, I’ve never been to Tengakubou, she answered. I hear it’s quite a sight.

It is, said Kazuchiyo reluctantly. Though I have not seen it since I was a boy. He took a sip of his wine for courage. The castle sits up in the Ryuuse Mountains, with the city spread out around and below it. From atop the keep you can see all the way to the sea.

I’ve never seen the sea, said Yagi thoughtfully.

Mahiro hummed around a gulp of her drink. I have! Plenty of coast in Yaefu. Not much to see though; it’s just a lot of water. She mumbled something unintelligible under her breath. Don’t see why Father’s calling us all the way down here for that. We can celebrate autumn just fine back home.

Apparently, said Iomori, there’s a particular festival in Suyama he’s interested in.

Kazuchiyo nodded as he picked at his supper. The autumn moon viewing. We celebrate the first new moon after the harvest as part of our tribute to the Dragon God.

If it’s the new moon, there’s nothing to view, Mahiro complained.

Yagi shrugged one shoulder. Does it matter? Festivals are just excuses to drink.

Ha! If that’s the case, I just might attend.

I imagine that returning to Tengakubou after all this time will be very challenging for you, Kazumune, Iomori said, stopping the conversation in its tracks. To see your home again after all these years.

Mahiro squirmed but kept quiet, watching Kazuchiyo out of the corner of her eye as she sipped her wine.

Kazuchiyo answered very carefully. Yes, I’m sure it will be. I’m a little hesitant to know how well my memory matches up to the real thing. He took up his rice bowl to continue eating. Though, even if Tengakubou is my birthplace, it’s no longer my home.

He expected the lie to wound him, and there was no mistaking that it did. However, even more deeply affecting for Kazuchiyo was the uncertainty of just how little of a lie it was.

Indeed, Iomori replied simply, and the rest of the meal passed in uncomfortably sporadic small talk about their travels.

It was just after they had left Mahiro’s chamber, preparing to split up for the evening, that Amai skidded around the nearest corner. Seeing Iomori still with them, he snapped into a bow. My lord, Master Iomori. There’s a… um, a disturbance down by the gate that I think deserves your attention.

An attack? Yagi demanded; without thinking, Kazuchiyo put a hand on his arm.

Amai straightened and shook his head. Not exactly. More like a squabble that got out of hand.

We might as well see for ourselves, said Iomori, and she swept past Amai toward the stairs.

Kazuchiyo’s heart sank; there was no question that there had been some conflict between Zaiga’s and Usaburou’s samurai. Though it was likely below his station to intervene, and he had hoped to place their conflict at the back of his mind for the rest of the evening, Amai’s squeamish look told him he could not ignore the affair.

He turned to Yagi. Why don’t you continue to the room? he suggested. There’s no need for you to tackle that many stairs just to come back up. We’ll get this sorted out and join you soon.

My legs are fine, Yagi protested, but seeing him brace his arm more firmly within his robe only solidified Kazuchiyo’s opinion on the matter.

Stay, he insisted. Amai will swipe some more wine for us on the way back.

Yagi snorted, but it did the trick; he nodded, and after one firm look at Amai, he continued on. Kazuchiyo and Amai hurried after Iomori back down the keep.

I didn’t see all of it, Amai admitted as they went. Some of Waseba’s men were taking food out to Zaiga’s men. I heard shouting and went to see, but by then swords were drawn.

Kazuchiyo sighed with frustration and quickened his pace.

A crowd had gathered around the castle gates by the time the three of them approached. It took Iomori clearing her throat rather loudly for the men at the back to notice them, but after that the soldiers obediently reeled out of the way to let them pass. Just beyond the gate, they came upon the debacle: a soldier in red robes lay dead on the packed earth, surrounded by his outraged peers, opposite another cluster of Sabi’s men. One of their number was being shielded by the others, and on both sides men gripped the hilts of their katana, some even brandishing polearms.

Though disagreements and even brawls were not uncommon among soldiers at rest, particularly those of bitter history, death was not an outcome lightly taken. Rarer still was the sight of the two generals themselves positioned among the standoff; Usaburou, still grimacing, gestured for calm opposite the cold-faced Zaiga, who was still clad in his full armor from the march.

Lord Aritaka approaches! one of the outlying soldiers called in warning, and all arguments ceased as each soldier hurriedly bowed their head.

Usaburou did the same, though he was the first to straighten back up as Kazuchiyo took in the scene. My lord, please forgive your hosts for this shameful display. It was not my intention to disturb you. His gaze landed briefly, hatefully, on Amai before snapping back to Kazuchiyo.

What goes on here, General? Kazuchiyo asked, aiming to keep his tone displeased but impartial. I see a man is dead.

A personal conflict only, my lord. Nothing that need disrupt your evening.

His soldier attacked mine unprovoked, Zaiga interrupted.

The Sabi men glowered and shifted, though most were wise enough to keep their mouths closed. Only the soldier Usaburou’s men were protecting dared to mutter, What a lie! before his fellows shushed him. Tension coiled between the two parties, and Kazuchiyo raised a hand to prevent tempers from burning any hotter.

You, he said, pointing to one of Zaiga’s men whose hands were awash with the victim’s blood. Did you see the whole thing?

The soldier turned away from his dead companion, face hard with anger and grief as he bowed over his knees. Yes, my lord.

And?

The man from Sabi was… taunting us, my lord. Whatever his lapse omitted, Zaiga evidently knew as he was fixing the man with a steely look. Daiki, he started to argue back. Then the man from Sabi drew and attacked him.

He insulted my general, the man protested. Despite the discouragement of his peers, he pushed out of their circle and dropped to his knees, facing Kazuchiyo. He was young and rough, and his voice seethed defensively. I know it’s terrible to harm a guest, but I could not call myself a man if I didn’t defend my lord’s honor!

You attacked an unarmed man over petty slights, Zaiga again interrupted. You and your general have no honor to defend.

The Sabi soldiers bristled even as Usaburou gestured for their calm. He had drawn by the time I slew him! the man cried regardless.

That’s enough, said Kazuchiyo, drawing all eyes and ears back to him. Their attention was daunting, and though he would have preferred a few minutes more to deliberate on the matter, to hear more versions of the tale and impartially judge, he could taste a threat of violence in the air that he dared not provoke, for he was one who had so recently declared, to his enemies and to himself, that he should one day rule every citizen of Shuyun. What a pity it would be to show cowardice so early in his journey, some would say. He could no longer afford the indecisiveness of his youth.

General Waseba is your commanding officer, he firmly told the Sabi man. I am your lord. By killing one of my peaceful soldiers under your roof, you commit murder against me. Do you understand and accept that?

The young man’s frustration crumbled into fearful resignation, and again he lowered his head. Yes, my lord.

Kazuchiyo glanced to Zaiga, who returned his gaze with steady anticipation. He felt very much then like he had as a boy, enduring his teachings in Tengakubou’s training halls, struggling with all his might to impress his father’s trusted general. He swallowed that nostalgia back and turned his full lordly presence on Usaburou.

General, he said, he is yours to punish.

Usaburou pressed his mouth into a stern line as the assembly’s focus shifted to him. After a brief moment of contemplation, he held his hand out to one of the higher-ranking samurai nearby, who regretfully but obediently passed him the katana from his belt. The slither of the metal being unsheathed set the poor fool kneeling at his feet to shuddering, but he did not make a sound.

Kazuchiyo forced himself not to look away. He told himself that, if he was to bear the shogun’s mantle someday, duty would undoubtedly include enduring uncomfortable justice. Usaburou wasted no time; true to his family’s cruelty, he brought the sword down in a powerful arc that cleaved the brash young man’s head clear from his body. The crowd flinched, some vindicated and others bitter, but none satisfied.

And just as the head fell, Kazuchiyo felt Iomori’s hand snake about his wrist. Her bony fingers dug into the three small beads he kept tied there, which flared momentarily with heat at the man’s passing. As dark blood dribbled and pooled across the dusty earth, that heat faded, and Iomori discreetly folded her hands back into her sleeves. Not wanting to draw anyone else’s attention to the unusual event, Kazuchiyo kept his eyes forward.

Usaburou flicked the blood from his borrowed weapon and sheathed it again with a snap. He bowed at the waist in Kazuchiyo’s direction. Is my lord satisfied?

Kazuchiyo tasted bile at the back of his throat. Send your men back to their duties. I’ll speak with you in the morning.

Though clearly dreading the prospect, Usaburou nodded and turned back to his men. As he and his captains began herding Sabi’s soldiers back through the gate, Kazuchiyo took a moment to look at Iomori expectantly.

If you want to be able to fill your cup, you’ll have to learn how to pour, Iomori told him, again with that hint of twisted amusement. She bowed her head and then stepped back, dismissing herself.

Though Kazuchiyo would have liked to question her further, he glimpsed Zaiga approaching. His uncle was much more immediately deserving of the attention. As he faced his him, Kazuchiyo allowed some of his displeasure to show in his face. General Zaiga.

My lord. Zaiga bowed his head shortly. That was well-handled.

I’m not sure I agree, Kazuchiyo admitted, tone lowered so that they would not be overhead amidst the dispersing crowd. I would have accepted a lesser sentence than death.

I know, and I think his men know that, too. Zaiga cast a sidelong glance in the direction of Usaburou, who was making an effort not to look their way. It’s good that they see him for what he is.

The eagerness with which he said those words gave Kazuchiyo a chill. Uncle, you must be more careful, he said with quiet firmness. I understand how you feel, but we can’t do anything about Waseba yet. You must find a way to control yourself better than this before we reach Tengakubou.

Zaiga blinked at him, and again Kazuchiyo felt that instinctive boyhood guilt, which came with the admonishment of a beloved teacher. Then Zaiga’s shoulders grew slack, and he nodded. You’re right. And I will; I promise.

Kazuchiyo relaxed with relief, only to watch Zaiga’s expression grow hard once more. Even so, the man said, are you able to promise me something in return?

Go ahead, Kazuchiyo prompted him, albeit reluctantly.

Zaiga’s dark eyes flared like struck flints. When the time comes, let me be the one to take his head.

Kazuchiyo gulped, remembering the tremor that had shot up his arms when he took the elder Waseba’s head himself the year previous. I don’t believe it will give you any comfort, Uncle, but yes. I can promise you that much.

Zaiga nodded with satisfaction, Kazuchiyo’s warning seemingly lost on him. Then if you’ll excuse me, he said, and with bows exchanged, he returned to his men. It was only then, as he assisted them in gathering up the body of the dead soldier, that Kazuchiyo noticed his brother, Shigeyuki, among them. Their eyes met, and Kazuchiyo was dismayed to see in him Zaiga’s same cold fury at what had occurred.

Amai poked him gently in the back, and that was all the encouragement Kazuchiyo needed. The pair returned to the keep to pilfer a jug of wine. It wasn’t until they were about to enter the room that Amai cleared his throat and asked, Are you all right?

Yes, I’m fine, Kazuchiyo reassured him with a smile. Thank you for alerting me. I can only imagine it would have been worse otherwise. Amai agreed, and they slipped inside.

Amai related the scene to Yagi as they passed the drink back and forth. Predictably, Yagi wrinkled his nose throughout the explanation, frustrated and irritated by their soldierly definitions of honor and justice. Lost in thought, Kazuchiyo offered very little in the way of comment. His two lovers, judging him to be exhausted from the ordeal, let the matter drop and were happy to instead turn in for the night. With refreshingly cool autumn air drifting through the window slats, they curled together within their bedding and were each soon asleep.

Kazuchiyo’s slumber, however, did not last the night. Hours before dawn he crept out from between his partners and stood facing the window, from which he could see the old tree, Hebine, perched upon the hill. Its long boughs swayed eerily in the waning moon’s pale light, like a lost and weary traveler calling out for the castle’s aid.

Kazuchiyo untied the ribbon around his wrist and slipped free the trio of beads: one red, a gift from Iomori, ostensibly to protect him on his first campaign; one black, a gift from me, so that he might test his magical prowess; one gold, a gift from the severed arm of onmyouji Mutsuyama, claimed in victory. Having been told before that the red bead’s well was nearly dry, he set it up on the window sill and took the remaining two each in one closed fist. He closed his eyes, and he concentrated.

He had glimpsed the insides of my black bead before. Sealed beneath its dark lacquer swirled a pool of the recently dead, mostly hailing from Jisu and Tendo provinces. Though I would correct him later, he wondered at the time if having the souls of two warring enemies trapped together in timeless oblivion caused them strife. In the chaos of samurai-led battle, it was possible and even likely that killer and killed twisted side by side, awaiting that time when someone of talent might put their souls to use. Would those men slain by Yagi-douji be grieved to know they now lay in the hands of their murderer’s lord and lover? Existing only to be burned like fuel for the casting of spells, be they petty or immense?

With a deep breath, Kazuchiyo imagined his senses closing around the bead, just as his sweaty palm did so. He drew to the forefront of his mind an image of the dusty road outside Sabi’s gate, and the mixed soldiers that milled back and forth through it. He imagined the camp finishing its nightly preparations, the smell of warm gruel and the earthy crunch of chestnuts. He pictured the red robes of Suyama.

And he saw his brother. A vision of young Shigeyuki unfurled, still in his armor and snarling facemask. Through the eyes of the unfortunate Sabi soldier, he watched Shigeyuki accept a bowl of roasted chestnuts with which to garnish the camp’s suppers. The Sabi man called him back; Kazuchiyo could not make out the words, his senses were not yet trained enough, but he felt the man’s curiosity turn to bitter suspicion. The man and his fellows began gesturing to their own faces, making it evident they were taunting Shigeyuki for his mask and for how he intended to make use of their offerings while still wearing it.

Zaiga’s