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Chapter 4: Guile and Gallantry

5th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“Ember, embers, flame remembers, twig and tinder's burned to cinders!"

“Hoi," Sota whispered as Chihiro pranced and sang.

“Heaty-hot and seared a lot! Overcooked, now overlooked! Can't be stewed, it's hardly food, maybe good for sandal wood!"

Sota pinched Chihiro's beak shut. “Hoi! Shut your beak-hole!"

The yatagha blinked at him, and uttered a muffled, “what?" through her nostrils.

The grab was just to steal Chihiro's attention. The only way to truly silence a yatagha was to knock them out or hold their neck. The beak moved out of politeness, and had no part in how they vocalised their words. It was all the parts of the throat that made the sounds, even if opening the beak did allow them to speak more clearly.

“I'm trying to think, that's what." He released her and rested his elbows on his knees.

Chihiro sat next to him and asked, “what about?"

“Take a guess," Sota grumbled.

Her head twitched back and forth, one side of her head to the other, with one beady blue eye always fixed on him. A typical yatagahan stare.

She answered, “the Ministry?"

“No. Hana."

“Cucumbers?"

Sota's breath got caught in his throat. “Wh- no! I just told you! And what in The Dragon's righteous thunders would I be doing contemplating cucumbers!?"

“You thinky-think like one," Chihiro replied. “Long and hard but filled with lot-a-lot of water but very little tasty-tasty flavour."

“Long and hard?" Sota chuckled, but decided to refuse the low hanging fruit. “Eh, I guess that's not entirely inaccurate, but we're both better pickled, right? I could certainly use a drink."

Chihiro nodded, then pecked at her wrist to scratch an itch. Her throat feathers bristled as she seemed to want to say something, but she remained silent.

The pair stared at the forest, sat quietly atop a fallen tree. The rustle of new, budding leaves and the gentle patter of droplets trickling in tune and intensity with the breeze. It had rained hard the last few days as spring had finally vanquished winter. The dam repairs were well under way and were due to continue tomorrow, since the deluge had revealed a few leaks.

Everything was wet and looked miserable, but from the drenching grew new life. Sometimes mishaps, hardship and tragedy were needed to isolate the problem, where too many dry, fine days led to damning procrastination.

“Maybe thinking about Hare-na is the problem," Chihiro said. “I worry about her too, but you can only reach down-down so much before you peck-a-peck the floor and get your beaky-beak all muddy. She's like a flower; you can't keep watering her to make her grow faster. Let the sprouty-sprouts sprout."

Sota cocked an eyebrow at Chihiro. “Just when I think I've got you figured out, you suddenly slap me with wisdom like that?" He sighed and leaned back, looking through the skeletal but recovering limbs of the trees and at the grey skies beyond. Indomitable uncertainty loomed, so how could he ignore it?

“I just worry she'll fall back again," Sota continued. “It's been great seeing her up and about, helping the younger girls with the rice paddies. A little glimpse of the girl beneath the armour." He took a slow drink from a gourd of water.

Chihiro crooned for a moment. “Give her more time, then you can try hump-humping."

Sota gagged and spat his drink. “That's not what this is about, you dumb little magpie!!"

“It is, it is! Kek kek!" Chihiro squawked in laughter. “You've been looking at her all dope-dopey ever since the farmhouse."

Sota sat in silence. He couldn't be bothered to conjure a deflection of her words, nor dig himself deeper by arguing, especially at the mention of the farmhouse.

A time of calm before the storm which only abated since they reached Kyoba village. A time when Hana had cast aside much of her old frigidity and began acting like a living, breathing inousan girl. It was the culmination of all the time Sota and Hana had spent together, but not the first demonstration of more beneath the surface on Hana's defeatist.

He had wanted to help her anyway back when they first met. Sota had left the Ministry out of a desire to enjoy a simpler life, as well as avoiding the more... troubling details that being a member of the Tongueless, but his desire to live a good life was something he wanted to spread to others. Hana's spiritual turmoil felt like a worthy cause, especially since they both sought the death of Lord Kou. He regretted how it all ended.

Sota closed his eyes and bowed his head. “Did I do the right thing?"

“Yes, Hana's alive," Chihiro replied. “She's healy-healing."

“I guess I meant more in terms of... well, us. I can't help but feel like I've lost her forever."

Chihiro said nothing. It helped Sota sort his own thoughts out and come to the only logical conclusion.

“I'm being selfish, aren't I? Praying for something I don't really deserve."

Sota sighed harder than ever, and lounged on the log. It was uncomfortable, but he didn't care. He just tried to remember the life within Hana, and how it first began to appear. Back in the port, and before their encounter with the catfolk.

What was that poem Hana had written when they recalled their time in custody after they met the catfolk?

Bustling street-life,

Many eyes watch, fewer see,

The predator stalks.

Like most things it started simple, and there was beauty in simplicity. Good food and even good company.

Then things got very, very complicated.

* * *

17th of High-Scatter, 1552

“Welcome! Please, right this way."

Sota entered the restaurant with a mix of pomposity and restlessness. He looked the part of a well-to-do man about town, but his posture remained that of a sneak; always observing his environment and expecting trouble at a moment's notice.

Nonetheless, he was freshly bathed, his hair and beard trimmed and groomed, and clad in a tailored, slate coloured hakama and a brand new, deep blue haori, corded sandals and black tabi socks.

Behind him, moving with a ghostly grace and dressed in a silken purple kimono, custom made slippers designed for inousan feet, Hana's affectation of a noblewoman was flawless. The illusion was broken less by the the enormous nodachi still strapped to her back but the cold, dead-set hundred-yard stare she possessed.

The waitress waited for them to sit down on the seating pillows on a raised, straw matted floor with a smooth, shiny wooden table between them.

“What can I get you this afternoon?"

Sota rubbed his hands. “What do you recommend?"

The waitress smiled and bowed. “Our red snapper, eel and octopus hotpot is famous throughout Akutoka! And we have a few special dishes for honoured inousan guests as well. We provide a full sample spread of all of them that's a meal all by itself."

Hana nodded, and Sota smiled and gently drummed the table. “That sounds good enough for The Dragon! Those will do nicely, with some green tea please. Thank you."

The waitress went away with their order, and the pair waited and observed the other patrons, as well as the streets outside. It was midday the docks were now a full bustle of activity. A few more catfolk roamed, but seemed standoffish to the other people, though all of them inevitably returned to the Golden Port.

“This seems like a frivolity," Hana said. “Why are we here?"

Sota paused and wondered if it was a trick question. “To eat lunch?"

Hana shook her head and gestured around them. “I meant in this restaurant. We could have taken something from that food stall near the tailor."

“Like a good tea, we need to properly brew in preparation, and be seen in the right conditions in order to truly embody the upper-crust. Only then will we appear as individuals suited to passing through the Ministry gates to the Golden Port. Besides; we've been eating poorly the last few days. A good meal will do us some good in mind, body and spirit. Especially since we don't know what is to come."

“It still feels like we're wasting time. What of the people we..." Hana paused and considered her words. “... what of the individuals which we defended ourselves from earlier? What of their fellows at the gambling den, or those catfolk? Or even the local police?"

Sota lounged back and yawned. “After what happened to those fools, I doubt the gambling den goons try anything this close to the Ministry's watchful eye. Not to mention we were waiting for these new clothes for some time, and we didn't seen head nor tail of them. As for the catfolk... we'll just have to play it by ear. The police won't do anything. Armed thugs from a barely reputable gambling den being found dead in a nearby alleyway isn't the sort of thing that will draw much attention. The Ministry enforce, and in ways celebrate, self defence."

Hana went to protest, only for the waitress to place two cups, a jug of hot water and a kettle in front of them. Hana picked up the kettle, glanced inside to inspect and sniff the tea inside, her nose twitching for a few moments.

“Ah, gyokuro," she whispered. Her brown eyes gained a lustre, and she felt the water jug, then pouted. “Tsk. Just a little too hot."

Sota watched as Hana's gaze continued to retain a delicate excitement as she patiently waited for the water to cool. She then poured the water inside the kettle and paused once more, only her attitude switched from subtle joy to an actual smile. Her ears perked and twitched as her head bobbed side to side.

“There," she said after a couple of minutes. She then poured the kettle in a slow, circular motion into Sota's cup, then placed the tea in front of him, before finally pouring her own in the same way. Hana then rested the kettle down, and picked up her cup using both hands, one on the side and one underneath, then sniffed and sipped with a measured, precise slurp.

She had a glimmer in her eyes already, but they sparked alight as she made an audible, pleased sigh. She revelled in the purity of the flavour: the grassy and floral notes sung through her senses and she closed her eyes in contentment. The bitterness was potent but cleansing on the palette, and paired well with the subtle earthiness that grew somewhat sweet over time, and it made Hana realise just how long it had been since she had drunk something besides water.

Sota snickered and picked his cup up one handed, and slugged a gulp down. “Ahh... that's good."

“Tsk. How uncouth," Hana whispered and pouted at him.

“What? It's tea. It's to be enjoyed."

“It's to be savoured," she corrected. “Tea is a gift, and the act of proper preparation and consumption is a measure of a person's soul."

Before any further debate took place, a bowl of mixed fish stew was placed before Sota and a plate of an assortment of vegetables dish samples on a wood platter in front of Hana.

Hana gasped in wonderment. “Kabocha. Oh, kinpira gobo. Goodness." She unconsciously picked up her chopsticks, then gulped from fear of drooling. “Hijiki salad! But of course, we're by the sea. This looks divine!"

“That it does, which reminds me," Sota said and clasped his hands together. “We partake this bounty from your lands, your seas and your glorious skies, Oh Dragon! Praise be."

“Praise be," Hana concurred with a quick clap of her hands, and she tackled her platter of vegetable dishes. She plucked bites from each dish in deft swoops of her chopsticks, and every crunch and chew, each lick of her lips and flicker of her ears from the sensations made Sota slow to a pause.

He couldn't help but stare in bemusement. This was the same inousan girl that had slaughtered her way through almost twenty targets, and only The Dragon knew how many of their protectors and lackeys. For one who sowed and had reaped the slow poison of death, she looked truly alive. A normal inousan girl, enjoying a fine meal that wasn't just raw or boiled vegetables, outside of Sota's offering of vegetable stew from when they first met.

Hana froze and glared at Sota, who fought back the smirk and had to force himself to eat as well. He slurped and chewed on the delicate snapper, the more textured and springy octopus and savoured the meaty and firm eel, all blended in a spiced, deep and richly aromatic broth.

As the food overcame their usual banter, doom and scheming, and the indulgence became all encompassing, they finally just enjoyed each other's silent company.

* * *

Sota froze in place, and quietly stared at the banner. The Great Wheel bellowed gently in the cold breeze, backed on deep blue and the old Samsaran script around the edge.

Very little bothered him these days. The things he had seen in his earlier years, as an acolyte of The Dragon, had steeled his resolve. But that was exactly why he paused. That which forged a man could also break him, as nothing understood the weakness of body and soul than those who had constructed these inner and outer aspects.

This was The Dragon Ministry's domain. The Golden Port. The high wall stretched either side of a central pagoda, and above the door, on the main plaque, was the slogan 'All bends to His words, for He speaks the truth.'

Far to the east, in Vliechov where the dragons still dominated the land in spite of the council's attempts at conquering the vast continent, both the greater and lesser drakes also worshipped The Dragon. Even Bralran at least feared him, but many other locations were dismissive of The Dragon. It defied explanation why everyone wouldn't pay homage to something so truly powerful, timeless and terrifying?

The All-Dragon, His lesser kin called him. The Great Father. Most importantly, they believed in a concept of the Egg of Reincarnation, the first and last state of being. Souls passed through the shell, were respun, and emerged again to be reborn.

In Samsara, The Ministry believed in a similar philosophy. The Wheel. The very same emblazoned on the flags of the fortress, and even in the design of the windows. Circular, and with many spokes.

The Wheel symbolised the travel of life. That when the wheel made contact with the ground, it was worn down and tested, being bashed into errant rocks, soaked in streams or struck by attackers. Strife, time and time again, would eventually test the mettle of the spokes, the people, the entities of which caused the world to change and move ever onward. Sometimes the spokes would break.

And if they broke at the wrong time, then all could come to an end. The only spokes, the people and clans, to be allowed to live were the strongest of them.

Foreigners called Samsara the Isle of War, and not without good reason. For the Ministry both believed in peace, but also justified and organised warfare. They believed in honing the people, while protecting them from those who would engage in wanton slaughter or plunder. Everyone was owed an attempt at strength, in case they would be one of the worthy spokes but suppressed by tyrants and monsters. Every living being had its chance at success, by trickery, guile, muscle or blood. And for every pillar of might, they would then fend of those around them.

And to help see to this careful balance of good and ill, the Tongueless acted as The Ministry's agents. Inquisitors, defenders, assassins... and much, much worse.

All the while, the people were both left to their own devices, but also observed and guided. Petty theft was not frowned upon, nor was retribution by the wronged party. Brawls between rivals were encouraged, so long as the innocent weren't involved. Self defence a righteous practice, but only if it was genuine self defence and not some sordid plot to justify murder. The Ministry were nothing if not thorough.

Which was why, when Sota took a long breath as he steeled himself, still couldn't move his legs. You didn't just leave the Ministry without dragging your experiences with you.

“Sota? Are you well?"

He glanced at Hana as she gave him a long, careful look.

“Not really," Sota replied, then shook his head. “But it doesn't matter. Let's go."

Hana's clawed fingertips brushed her scabbard, but she forced her hand back beside her as they walked. “I am relying on you here, since you're more familiar with the Ministry than I. If you are ill prepared, then perhaps we should consider another path."

“There isn't one. Trust me."

The gates were wide open. There were no guards outside, because they didn't need them. Nobody was stupid enough to mount an attack on the Ministry.

Inside was a grand hall, with more banners bearing The Wheel, as well as a large desk with a man sitting behind it, pruning a delicate looking shrubbery. Neatly piled papers and scrolls sat in assorted boxes, as well as a tiny gong. The back wall was covered in a vast bookshelf.

Either side of the desk were the open gateways through to the Golden Port proper, though they had low fences blockading them, each covered in neatly grouped and layered ofuda talismans. Farther to the sides were identical stairways to the upper floors. The centre of the pagoda was an open ceiling, and as Sota and Hana looked up, they could see a dozen floors stretching upward, each no doubt bustling with Ministry workers busy cataloguing all of the ins and outs of Akutokan trade and local affairs.

The man behind the desk, dressed in a neat, deep blue robe with gold trim and many coiled threads on the shoulder, regarded the pair and stared for a moment, then smiled and beckoned them closer as he tapped the little gong with a small, padded mallet.

Sota obeyed, with Hana right behind him, but as they reached the desk, there was an uneasy silence as the light, gentle thrum of the gong rang and echoed delicately around the open space, then fell to silence.

Hana glanced between the two, wondering if there was some animosity, or if Sota was recognised by the Ministry man, but nothing. Just folded arms and hushed patience.

It was as awkward as it was painful, and Hana eventually cleared her throat went to speak, only for the man to raise a hand and smile again.

A light patter approached, with the periodic click of claw on stone, before a slim and feathery figure hopped down the stairs. A yatagha, clad in an identical blue robe, stepped beside the man, and the two shared a glance.

The human's hands flittered and danced about in a form of sign language, which Sota watched, but didn't betray any emotion.

The yatagha bowed to his companion, then looked at Sota with his beady, slate grey eyes. “Greetings, sir. Welcome to the Golden Port of Akutoka. I am Daisuke, Voice of He, and I speak on behalf of my master, Provincial Aggregator Goto. How might we assist?"

Sota bowed back. “We seek audience with the Cera'an in charge of The Wailing Maiden."

Daisuke turned his head back and forth a few times as he looked between his master and Sota. “I'm afraid that is not possible today. The Cera'an representative is in official talks."

“And I have an important clan representative of the inousa people with me," Sota said and gestured to Hana, who remained neutral and let him perform his con. “But I'm not here to cause a fuss; if you allow us to simply pass through, I'm sure I can find one of the Ardentiphans willing to at least introduce us, if not pass on a message."

Goto rapped his knuckles on the desk, and made a few sharp gestures to Daisuke, who croaked in contemplation.

Daisuke then hopped over to bookshelf, climbed and retrieved a book, and opened it on the desk, as well as producing a black quill.

“Name?"

Sota clicked his tongue. “Kuwabata. Uh... Toshiro Kuwabata."

Goto's eyebrow flickered, but Daisuke jotted the name down, then pointed the black feather pen at Hana.

She stared at the yatagha for a moment, then answered, “Kaori Saekawa."

Daisuke murmured and clacked his beak as he studied Hana, then he flipped the book back a couple of pages.

“Another visit? Hmm." Daisuke tilted his head, then returned to the latest page and wrote the name.

Hana and Sota gave each other a glance, but remained silent.

Daisuke looked up at Goto, who nodded, and the yatagha signed the book with a symbol. “Very good. Please perform your business succinctly and without disrupting any other patrons of the Golden Port, nor intrude into the private spaces in the gardens. Do not enter any privacy alcoves without an invitation. Have a good day."

Goto bellowed, “akeru!"

Some of the ofuda on the barrier glowed, and the whole fence lifted.

Daisuke gestured to the opening, so Sota and Hana stepped through.

They exited to a flagstone paved garden, with skeletal trees but sturdy shrubs decorating the grounds, with sections of vine-covered walls obscuring many hidden corners, each aglow with a yet more ofuda. Small pockets of well dressed people, almost all containing a person in the deep blue robes of the Ministry, were scattered about, some moving between the partitions but all keeping a respectable distance, though most remained inside the alcoves. At one end was an open archway which led to the waterside. Despite how many conversations were taking place, the only sound in the area was the wind from the ocean and the flutter of Ministry banners.

A set of sconces, as well as the protective walls, kept the place surprisingly warm.

“I'm surprised that worked," Hana remarked. “I would have thought security would be strict... although I am puzzled by the reference to me visiting before."

Sota scratched his chin. “Maybe you got lucky with your name? Is this Kaori Saekawa someone you know?"

“It is a blending of names. One of... someone important to me once, and the clan name of one of my family's allies. And am I to assume that was a Tongueless?"

“Yep," Sota said with a nod. “Mastery of use of ofuda requires tremendous degrees of self-restraint, as the Tongueless speak with The Dragon's own words and will them into function through the formless words. The vast majority of The Dragon's faithful purposefully lose their tongues to protect themselves in case they accidentally invoke such power in a way that harms the world around them or even themselves."

Hana tilted her head. “Is that why the yatagha was speaking for him?"

“Correct. Tongueless speak through sign language and via yataghan interpretors, though the crow people are companions and protectors in their own right."

“Could you glean anything from Goto's motions?"

Sota shrugged. “Thankfully he displayed some pretty harmless stuff; mostly not seeing us as a threat and not wanting us to bother his gardening efforts. At least they didn't seem to recognise me. Right, onward! Let's look for those Cera'an traders and work out our next step. We'll need to get close too; those ofuda on the vine walls are keep sound from passing to prevent unscrupulous folk like ourselves from spying."

After wandering the gardens, they soon saw a couple of the Cera'an keeping watch over one of the alcoves.

Like the two Sota and Hana had seen in the alley, they were lithe and tall, both around six feet tall. They wore very fine, sleek bodysuits made of a glossy fabric that looked to cover their whole bodies except for their fingers and presumably toes, though they wore fine leather boots over their digitigrade feet.

Over these suits, they wore fine scalemail armour, complete with matching bracers, elbow and shoulder pads, and greaves, all layered with dark blue and red accented fabrics. Each also bore a small version of the monochrome crossed cat-claw emblem that flew on the Cera'an ships flag on their chests. Finishing the uniform were wore fur-lined cloaks, though they were swept back thanks to the heat of a nearby sconce. It kept their pointed ears and feline faces exposed, and each had a distinct pattern to their fur.

One held a large mechanical crossbow with a box magazine on top and a bayonet affixed to the front, and the other catfolk had an elegant pulwar on one hip; a long, decorative and curved single handed sword. Both also had a pair of kukri, one on the thigh and one on the shoulder with grip pointed down.

Hana's eyes narrowed. “I would presume they were showing off with their peculiar silken outfits, but their posture and eyes betray their skill."

Sota cocked an eyebrow at Hana. “You can tell that from a glance? Even if you've never met a Cera'an before?"

She nodded. “There is no mistaking their bearing. Their confidence is clear and they may look to be standing in a casual manner, but they are ready to fight and have partaken in such action many times."

“No sense standing around," Sota said. “Let's go introduce ourselves."

Sota sauntered up to the Cera'an pair, and they locked eyes on him. The sword bearer stepped forth to intercept while the crossbowman remained by the alcove entrance.

“I don't know you," said the Cera'an, “which means you need to stay back, perra."

“Just hoping to get to know the talk of the town," Sota said with a smile.

Hana moved beside him and stared the Cera'an down. “You're here to conduct business, yes? We have business."

“Not with the boss, you don't."

“We insist," Hana said, and took another step closer. “It's urge-"

“Ain't urgent enough, so get lost," said a deep, gruff but female voice from behind. “You here to cause trouble, taffir?"

Hana flinched and spun, and Sota turned, only to gasp and step back.

An enormous Cera'an woman loomed behind them. She hadn't made a sound on her approach, despite her mountainous frame.

She had a tiger-like fur pattern, lacking armour beyond the same outfit as her fellows. She also had no sleeves to show off her physique, with scars marring her thick, muscular arms. She dwarfed Sota and even her fellows by a full head. She also had longer hair on her head compared to the other Cera'an, a mane-like mass tied back into a simple ponytail that was layered with the same striping of her fur.

The Cera'an woman brandished a large Samsaran steel-studded war-club, a tetsubo, over her shoulder as well as wearing a Bralranian longsword on her hip.

She looked over Sota and Hana to her companions. “Versila jevoorr. Irs phorra."

The two relaxed and bowed. “Larran, Rosarris."

They headed off towards the waterside and the huge Cera'an woman pushed past Hana, cricking her neck and sighing as she now blocked the alcove.

Sota smirked and whispered, “damn, what are they feeding these Cera'an?"

The huge woman sneered at him with large fangs. “Keep talkin' and I'll be roastin' you, runt_._ I reckon you need to get lost before I chuck you on a... fuerra...?" She growled under her breath, then pointed to a sconce. “contained fire."

Hana gripped her sword, but the Cera'an locked her stare on her. The catfolk's eyes were a pale, lurid turquoise, almost fiery in their intensity, and the narrow, slitted pupils suddenly went wide.

She snarled, “you draw that sword and I'll taffarrn skin you alive."

Sota stood between them and raised his arms in submission.

“Whoa, whoa! Easy, both of you! We just want to talk! Who's in charge here?"

Those fiery green eyes locked onto Sota, and he began to sweat. He remembered what Hana had said about recognising the skill of the previous pair of catfolk by the look in their eyes, because this woman before them had it in spades. She was a killer, not unlike Hana, but where there was a desperation in Hana's eyes, this woman was a predator. She looked at Sota not as a human, but as a carcass to be skinned, tanned and hung up as a trophy. She just needed the excuse to act on the impulse.

The catfolk chuckled and grinned an unkind grin, but relaxed. “I don't gotta tell you shit, human. If you don't know who you're dealin' with, you're in the wrong place."

A mature, beautiful and smaller Cera'an woman stepped out from the alcove. She was only as tall as Hana but she had the same green, cold-blooded glare in her eyes, tiger-like colouration of the larger Cera'an woman, but this one possessed a cool, authoritative bearing.

She said, "Rosarris, what's going on? Who are these people?"

Sota's brow flinched. That word again. Rosarris was the name of this vast catfolk woman.

Rosarris glanced at the smaller Cera'an, then back at Sota and Hana.

“Geresha, matrra, Ir-"

The older Cera'an gestured for Rosarris to stop. “In Samsaran, my daughter, don't be rude. There are natives present."

Rosarris frowned at her mother and sighed. “You sure? I think they're here pokin' their noses where it ain't welcome."

The Cera'an mother smiled politely and approached Sota. “Forgive my daughter. She is just doing her job as the clan's foremost protector." She offered an eastern style bow a curtsey. “To what do I owe the pleasure, sir?"

Sota glanced back at Hana, who shrugged, and he cleared his throat. “I apologise for the imposition, madam. I am Toshiro Kuwabata, and I represent my inousan diplomat friend, Kaori Saekawa. And you are?"

“Varisidra Cera'Darchinissidai," she said, and her focus intensified in study to his reaction.

Sota's eyes went wide. “Cera'Dar...shin..." He scratched the back of his head. “That's... a mouthful."

Varisidra tittered, and covered her mouth as she did. A local gesture of politeness.

“That is a common reaction. My people are known as the Cera'an, which translates as 'the clans.' Darchinissidai is a phrase which concerns a particular creed of my people, as our clans strive to embody these phrases, though they are made of simpler words. It's not dissimilar to your family names, no? I believe Kuwabata refers to mulberries in some way? My classical Samsaran is a little lacking, I fear... oh, but I'm prattling on; you had business with my people?"

Sota kept glancing at Rosarris, but stood straight and nodded. “Yes. Well, maybe. We wished to speak to the Cera'an in charge of your trade venture, or whoever owns the Wailing Maiden."

“Speaking," Varisidra said and smiled, exposing her sharp teeth. “I've always preferred doing business face to face. Those that hide behind proxies demonstrate a weakness of the mind, body or both. I'll suffer not the often foolish gallantry so rife in this land, nor those that hide behind the curtain while brazen figureheads spout philosophy of which they neither understand nor embody. Ergo..."

She stepped around Sota and fixed her eyes on Hana as she got within arms reach.

“Let us speak plainly, Lady Saekawa. Just you and I. Clan representative to representative."

“Now hold on here!" Sota said and went to stand between them again, but Rosarris pulled him him aside and into a stumble as she pointed her tetsubo at him.

“You heard her; this is between my mother and the rabbit."

Hana grimaced. Words weren't her forte, nor hiding her thoughts and intentions from the looming dread of this Varisidra's domineering presence. Instinct sent her hand to her sword.

Within the blink of an eye, three Cera'an men emerged from the alcove, as well as a dozen more from the dock, their weapons poised.

Varisidra's dark smile lingered, then her eyes narrowed. “What does an inousan woman and her scoundrel 'representative' human, who go from being involved in elicit gambling dens and carving its men in twain, then decorating themselves in pursuit of me, actually wish from me? You move with a special kind of purpose. One often signifying an attempt to threaten or harm me or my people. Am I right?"

Hana gritted her teeth, and Varisidra's smile began to fade.

“If you have no words, then I am done with you. And I don't wish to have you nipping at my heels."

Varisidra raised her hand and the other Cera'ans took aim, only to stop as a loud cawing sounded from nearby, as Daisuke and Goto arrived.

“Halt! In the name of The Dragon and The Ministry, cease all hostilities!"

A couple of the Cera'an turned their crossbows on the pair, but Goto raised an ofuda between his index and middle finger.

His voice boomed, “yowasa!!"

Everything went white, hazy and distant. Every member of the Cera'an, as well as Sota and Hana, collapsed as their muscles failed them, their senses dulled and several more Ministry men arrived.

“You are all under arrest," Daisuke said as he stood over Sota, but addressed everyone. “Your crimes stand at disturbing the peace in a Ministry controlled district! You will all be held for a day. Pending investigation and inquiry, more criminal acts may be levied."

Sota sighed as the yatagha produced a pair of shackles, and reached down for him.

* * *

5th Day of Tearful Sky, 1554

“WAKE UP!"

Sota yelped and sat up, and took a beak to the forehead.

“Shit! Aagh! What's wrong!?"

Chihiro shook her head and felt her beak. “I'm hungry! And you were snore-snoring. And I think there's people in the forest."

“People?" Sota looked aroumd the forest. “What people? Villagers?"

Chihiro shook her head. “Creepy-creeps, but they weren't armed. Just spying I think."

Sota leapt to his feet and winced as his back twinged. Too much hard labour and an uneven resting spot.

The village was in the middle of nowhere. Strangers nearby didn't bode well, especially since he, Hana and Chihiro arrived with pursuers.

He glanced through the trees, but saw nothing. “Where were they?"

Chihiro hopped to her feet, then used them to flick up a pair of metal braced tonfa, which she slipped into the purple sash of her charcoal coloured robe.

“Follow-follow!"

* * *