Tsuneoki and Haruki reined in their horses alongside him. They paused to survey the crashing sea in the distance and the rolling stretch of land beyond the dilapidated stone wall.
“Do you feel it?” Ōkami asked, without turning to look at either of his friends.
Haruki nodded. “Did it always feel this way? Like the air is … full of spirits?”
“From what I can remember.” Ōkami breathed in deeply. The scent of the seawater wafting across the mulberry fields stirred something deep in his memories.
“When Ōkami was a boy, he loved to tell me his mother’s home was haunted by ghosts.” Tsuneoki steadied his horse as it began to move about, almost as though it had understood its rider.
Ōkami looked at his best friend. He still did not comprehend the reason Tsuneoki had asked him to come here. What he wished to show him. This place dredged up too many things. Images that had long since faded from recollection.
The trio rode past the worn gates, through the sea of swaying grass toward the main compound. Ōkami said little as they traveled past the echoes of his childhood, but he marveled to himself at how effective time was at collecting its due. It troubled him how certain sparks of memory would burn across his vision, only to vanish the next instant. After so many years, he didn’t really remember what his mother looked like. He only caught flashes of feeling, ripples of scent, a strong hand clasped tightly to his, even when he tried to yank it away.
His mother had been beautiful, that much he knew. A lover of the sea and all its spoils. A singer and an artist. A woman who’d enjoyed arguing with his father, to their mutual delight. But these things were told to Ōkami when he’d grown older, and it was not unusual for young sons to think their mothers the loveliest of all.
After his wife had been swallowed by a giant wave, Ōkami’s father did not speak much about her. For five days and nights, the fishermen in the nearby village tried to find her, but the storm that day had been quick and wild. It had caught her without warning. Now all that remained of his mother were Ōkami’s flickers of recollection.
And Ōkami remembered so little.
Her name was Sena. Toyotomi Sena.
As Ōkami dismounted from his horse, he caught sight of fabric scraps lying among the debris. On some of them, he saw the faded remnants of the Toyotomi crest—a sea dragon guarding a trove of diamonds. He stopped beside the entrance to the run-down fortress. Without a word, Ōkami pushed through the splintered gates, their hinges protesting with a rusty whine, their wooden slats warped by the sun. Dried leaves littered the main courtyard. They blew across the moss-covered stone, catching in tiny twists of air.
High above head fluttered a large banner. Even from this distance, Ōkami could see the outline of the Minamoto crest in its center. For an instant, his vision darkened with anger, but Ōkami reached beyond the sentiment, settling for apathy.
It was much easier not to care.
A haunted moan unfolded across the old tile roof. The main edifice had not been constructed as many of the modern strongholds were now built. There were no tiered gables. It possessed a single story. The only form of true protection was the river along the outermost border; a single bridge availed intruders with access to the domain. Back then, these things were thought of as unnecessary. The fallen fortress of the Toyotomi clan had been built when no one thought to challenge their protectors.
Had his father been a protector? Had he truly been a great man who cared about those beneath him? Ōkami had not thought so. For most of his life, he’d believed his father had simply succumbed to a selfish notion of honor. One that idealized his death and held him up as a standard of greatness. But Mariko had offered Ōkami a different perspective. It was not anything she said, but rather all that she done. All she became. Two months ago, Mariko had arrived to their encampment in Jukai forest as a spoiled daughter of a callous daimyō. But she changed. She allowed her mind to be open to other possibilities.
To the chance the things she’d believed all her life might be wrong.
Had Takeda Shingen cared more about those he’d been sworn to protect than his honor? Had he truly been a great man?
Ōkami frowned. No. He was not wrong about his father. Takeda Shingen had wanted to be a hero of legend, not a man of the people. A great man would not have left his only son without answers. His people without hope.
“Why are we here, Tsuneoki?” Ōkami asked. His voice was a low growl. It belied his desire to remain indifferent. He cleared his throat and asked again.
But his friend had already noticed his irritation. “I thought to make this our new stronghold.”
“It’s a mistake. The emperor will find out.” Ōkami spoke without hesitating.
“Of course he will. But the river within this domain flows swiftly and runs deep. A single bridge is the only way to cross it, which should prove difficult for a large army, especially if we rig it to collapse under a certain weight. And I don’t expect us to be here long. Either we will prevail or die trying. We’ve never been equipped for a long siege.”
“It’s foolish to lead the men here.”
Tsuneoki paused. “It’s even more foolish to continue hiding them in the forest. You’ve seen how quickly we’ve grown. How quickly we continue to grow. A force as large as ours requires adequate space.”
Ōkami did not answer as he walked up the steps and into the main residence. Inside were the remnants of many small fires—spots of blackened stone and piles of ash. The domain of the Toyotomi clan was abandoned by Ōkami’s family not long after he’d lost his mother. Following the mysterious death of his grandparents, the land was branded as cursed. The few who’d chosen to remain behind burned anything of value, rather than have it be taken by conquerors. This gave Ōkami a measure of comfort. At least the late emperor had not stolen anything of worth from his mother’s land. Minamoto Masaru had taken everything from the Takeda family. Even purloined their crest and melded it with his own.
The only thing of value that had been stolen from the Toyotomi clan were its lives. Its beating heart. Somewhere in the darkened corners of the structure—beneath the layers of dried grass and scurrying insects—were most likely the remains of the poor souls who’d fought to defend his mother’s land.
What would tie them to it, long after its protectors had left it to ruin?
“If you wish to use this domain as your stronghold, you do not need my permission.” Ōkami turned to meet the gaze of his best friend. “You’ve never needed my permission for anything.”
“All the same, I wished to ask.”
Ōkami pivoted in place to return to his horse. “It was a waste of time coming here. I thought you were the last person to waste time.”
“Ranmaru,” Tsuneoki called out.
Ōkami stopped short. Tsuneoki rarely used his given name. And never in the presence of others. “What do you want?”
“You should go to your mother’s chambers.”
“Why?” His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “To what end?”
“Just go.” Tsuneoki kept still as Haruki moved to stand beside him, as though to offer him strength.
Ōkami frowned. Then shrugged.
If he was here, it would not cause him harm to humor his friend.
Redemption
Kanako wandered a final time through her garden between worlds. Her fingers floated over the dazzling leaves, the silver of her rings causing their mirrored surfaces to shimmer at the slightest touch.
This would be her last day visiting this place. For almost two decades, this colorless world had provided her with a haven—a place to conceal her true self, even from her son. Today would also mark her final attempt to give Raiden the greatest gift she could offer: the power to rule as heavenly sovereign.
She shook out her hair. Removed the lacquered zori and silken tabi from her feet, so that she could feel rooted to the earth wherever she stood. Then Kanako raised her hands, the dark sleeves of her kimono fluttering in an enchanted wind. She watched the leaves take flight from their hedges. They encircled Kanako as though she were a black swan, and they her glittering attendants. They began to drift higher until they changed shape, blossoming into the figures of men and women. The ones Kanako had carefully chosen for her flock.