Junji entered the library of Striking Dawn. He took a deep breath, releasing the pent-up tension in his chest. He rocked his head back and forth, easing his sore neck. It was a relief to be away from the main hall and its political undercurrents. He did all he could to hold himself above the power struggles between the Kakeguchi family and the Hiruma contingent. More and more often, though, he had the sense of clutching on for dear life to the rock of neutrality while the rapids tried to tear him away. He had repeatedly made his position clear to Akemi and Doreni. He was a Kakeguchi by birth, but a monk by vocation. He refused to play their games. All that mattered was that the redoubt of Striking Dawn stood firm against the Shadowlands.
Yet they kept pulling at him. And the news that Haru brought was not going to calm things down at all. He could see that daimyō and the lieutenant each imagined the discovery might help their cause, either by proving Haru’s worth as an heir, or discrediting him once and for all.
Junji took another deep, deliberate breath. He closed his eyes, and exhaled slowly, centering himself, purging thoughts of power struggles. That was not why he was here. He was here to consult his beloved scrolls. He was here to journey back through the history of Rokugan. Haru had made one discovery. It was up to Junji to make the next.
He opened his eyes. He was ready now.
The chamber that held Striking Dawn’s archives was a large one, with shelves extending to the high ceiling. Ladders provided access to the alcoves where the oldest scrolls resided. There were many corners in the upper reaches that had not been visited in a long time, and where organization had gone awry many decades past.
Junji climbed a ladder. Up here, in the high altitudes of the past, that was where he needed to begin. It disturbed him that he had no idea what city this was that Haru had stumbled upon. The talisman disturbed him even more. If he could find a name, and even the roughest fragments of a history, perhaps he would feel better. The unknown was dangerous. He disliked it.
As he began to comb through scrolls, focusing on maps and historical chronicles, the image of the talisman kept surfacing in his mind. It taunted him. He had placed it on a table in the center of the library inside a small, sanctified chest of green jade, thus sealing it off. The more he examined it, the less he trusted it. With it in the chest, he would also not have to see it except when necessary. But he could not banish its image. In his imagination, the spiral really did move. It turned and turned with a sickening sinuousness, as if it would draw light and souls into its center.
Whatever he found would be dark. There could be no doubt of that. He could only hope that he would find something, and that what he found could be used.
• • •
Evening was falling and the storm had started up again, and when Barako entered the library, she found Junji seated at the long table that took up most of the chamber’s central aisle. He was surrounded by stacks of scrolls, both open and rolled. Papers were laid out before him, overlapping each other with little discernible order. Lanterns hanging from the ceiling cast pools of light over the table. Junji had his head down over a scroll, his brows furrowed in concentration. He was in his element, doing what he loved more than anything else in the world.
You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?
Barako chastised herself for the ungenerous thought. Junji had been visibly alarmed when Haru had produced the talisman. He would not be taking any possible danger from the Shadowlands lightly. He would, though, also relish the chance to vanish into his precious archives. If his duty required he retreat once more from the political front lines, then so much the better.
Junji’s neutrality frustrated Barako. She had tried, several times, to convince him that by failing to show full support to Akemi, he was helping ensure the very struggles he despised so much would continue.
That isn’t why you are here now, though.
No. She was here to help. Junji frustrated her, yes, but she also admired his scholarship.
She scuffed her boot heel against the floor, making a bit more noise so she wouldn’t startle Junji when she reached the table. He jerked slightly and looked up. His smile was tired, and a little cautious.
“Are you here to help or to lecture me again?” Junji asked.
“To help,” said Barako.
“Good. I could use your eyes here too.”
Barako pulled out a chair opposite Junji and sat down. They had spent many days here together in silent study. Barako used the library more than any of the other warriors in Striking Dawn. She used every chance she could find to learn more about the enemies of the Kakeguchi, whoever and whatever they might be. The knowledge she gathered was one of the weapons she brought to the battlefields, and Ochiba, grateful for her lieutenant’s research, put the knowledge to good use.
“Here,” said Junji. He leaned forward and pushed a heap of scrolls over to Barako. “Start with these. Chronicles of voyages through the mountains. There might be some mention of the city in them.”
The first scroll that Barako picked up was brittle with age. It shed dust as she unrolled it carefully. The calligraphy was faded, the black ink turning gray. “An old chronicle,” she said.
“They all are. If the city had been written about recently, we would know about it.”
“Do you think it has been written about at all?”
“We must hope it has,” Junji said quietly.
Barako started reading. She went through the scrolls as carefully but as quickly as she could, scanning them for the characters for ruins and city. She soon lost track of time. Like Junji, she disappeared into the documents, her world shrinking down to become nothing more than the calligraphy before her. The only sounds in the library were the rustling of papers. She and Junji barely moved except to place one scroll aside and unroll the next one.
She did not know how many hours she had been there when Junji grunted. Barako looked up. “Something?” she asked.
Junji nodded. “A reference to it, I think. It is a passing one, recorded at third hand. This traveler has heard of an ancient city somewhere in the mountains south of the Castle of the Forgotten.”
“Is there a name?”
“Yes. The City of Night’s Hunger.”
Barako took this in. Her jaw tightened. Haru, what have you done? “That sounds ominous,” she said.
“It is,” Junji agreed.
“Is there more?”
“No. Just that reference.”
“That is a beginning, at least.”
They resumed their search, now with greater focus. Barako felt they had the scent of their prey. They had a name to look for. She did not rush through the documents where she did not find it right away, though. There might be other references, ones that used a different name, or none at all.
They worked until dawn. By then, they had found a few more, precious scraps of knowledge about the city.
Barako stretched, working out the kinks in her shoulders that the hours of hunched sitting had turned into painful knots. “We should show Akemi what we have managed to find,” she said.
“I will leave that to you,” said Junji. “I will keep looking.”
“Do you think there is more to find?” Barako eyed the piles of scrolls they had already gone through.
“There could be. We are a long way from having exhausted the possibilities in this library.” Junji was quiet for a moment. “Still,” he went on, “to have so little to show for our efforts so far has me thinking dark thoughts.”
“In what way?”
He waved his hand at the few documents they had collected that bore even the slightest hint of the City of Night’s Hunger. “So few fragments,” he said. “Where there is a mention of it, the author is too brief, especially for a city of the size and nature that Haru describes. Why do they not remark upon it? And why are there no direct witnesses? Only vague memories of someone else’s vague memories of someone else’s stories. It is as if the city were concealing itself, not just from our eyes, but from our thoughts.”
This is worse and worse. “If that is so, what do you think we should do?”
“That is not for me to decide.” Junji was firm. “I will find all I can. The course of action to take will be up to Lady Akemi.”
“Your wisdom could be vital.”
“I have none to give. Not on this matter.”
“When do you find there are matters where you do have wisdom to share?”
Junji did not reply.
“The time may come when you will have to take a stand,” Barako told him, and rose to depart.
• • •
Haru paced back and forth in his mother’s quarters, his face illuminated by the flickering of the lamps. Barako had left several minutes ago. Her words, however, still hung in the air. The City of Night’s Hunger. Akemi had said nothing since the samurai had left. She kneeled on the mat, sipped her tea, musing, and ignoring Haru as he passed in front of her.
Finally, Haru could wait no longer. He kneeled in front of Akemi. “Well?” he demanded.
Akemi raised her eyes slowly. The look she gave him was infinitely patient, which only made him even more frustrated. “You are going to tell me what you think I should do, aren’t you?” She drummed her fingers slowly on the head of her cane.
“No… I…” Haru stammered. She was right. That was what he had been about to do. The presumption would be offensive, and lose him whatever respect she might have for him. “My actions are yours to command,” he said. “They always will be. I would never suggest the opposite.”
“Good.”
“Please, though. Please tell me what you think about what Barako told us.”
“The name of the city is a dark one,” said Akemi.
“I agree.”
“Go on,” Akemi said. “You will be lord of Striking Dawn in times to come.” She spoke with more certainty than Haru felt. “Tell me what you would do.”
“The city is dangerous. We do not know in what way. And we cannot afford to ignore it.”
“True,” Akemi put in. “Now that it has been found, the city may be as aware of us as we are of it. Or what lurks there might be. One of us has entered it and left. Who is to say that what lies within might not leave the city too, following the path that has been left to it?”
Haru winced at the rebuke. Should I have ignored what I found? Should I have ignored what Ishiko and I experienced in the cavern? What would you have done differently? What makes you think we would be safe if we had never found the city? What makes you think that danger would not emerge from it, sooner or later? How could we prepare if we did not even know the city was there? He swallowed the defensive responses. They would do him no good. Better to accept what Akemi said with dignity. Perhaps that would make her more receptive to what he had to say. “If there is danger, it must be destroyed before it threatens us. If there are amends to be made, I must make them.”
“What do you propose?”
“What I have been saying from the start. We must return to the City of Night’s Hunger. If this is an extrusion from the Shadowlands, it must be eradicated.”
“The destruction of a city is no small matter.”
“I know. It will take time to raze it. First, though, if there is something there, it must be defeated. Let me take a company. I will defeat the enemy that I have discovered.”
Akemi looked at him for a long time. Her face softened. When she spoke, she looked away from him. She looked past him, as if she did not want to see his eyes. “No,” she said. “I cannot grant you this request.”
“Why not?”
Now she did look at him, with disappointed sorrow. “You know why. You are right to say that we must take action. You have discovered something of terrible importance. Whatever the circumstances of that discovery, it matters. It matters a great deal. Be proud of that.”
“Please,” Haru said, despising himself for begging, and wishing his mother did not have good reasons to refuse what he asked. “Do not ask me to remain here.”
“And if you return to the city, and are lost to me, what of the Kakeguchi of Striking Dawn then?”
“What will that do for my standing if I stay behind? Will anyone consent to be led by a coward?”
Akemi pressed her lips together. She tilted her head, very slightly, as if conceding his point. “Very well,” she said. “You will return.”
“I will leave at dawn.”
“In this storm? And die before you even reach the city?”
“When the storm passes, then. Though we cannot wait indefinitely. Past a certain point, I believe we must risk the journey. The risks in not doing so would be even graver.” He paused, waiting for Akemi to answer. When she did not respond, he found himself pleading again. “I must go. I cannot remain on the sidelines. If I did, I would lose any chance of ever having the authority necessary to be lord of this castle. Better I should die in the preservation of this castle. The result for your legacy would be no worse.”
Another silence. At length, with a sigh, Akemi said, “Perhaps you are right. You will go, then.”
“Thank you. You will not regret–”
Akemi raised a hand, cutting him off. “You will go with a company led by Ochiba. She will be in command.”
“No…” Haru struggled to find words. The hurt and anger were a ball in his throat. He could barely breathe. “Why? Why would you do this to me? Do you not see how I will be diminished in the eyes of all the samurai in Striking Dawn?” This was almost worse than being left behind.
“I must do, in the end, what is right for this castle. As you must, when your time comes. And this is not the first time you have served under Ochiba’s command.”
“When have I not? But this is different. This is my discovery.”
“Yes. You were the one to discover it on our family’s behalf. On the Crab Clan’s behalf. Now do your duty and serve Striking Dawn in the way that I deem best.”
There was no point in arguing. Akemi had decided. She would not be swayed. Haru bowed. “I will bring honor to the Kakeguchi,” he promised, and left the room.
He would be true to his vow. No matter what Akemi ordered.
Haru strode quickly down the corridor. He had preparations to make.