Side Story #28: Satsuma's Necklace (Toshio Version) (Patreon)

<Author’s note: This story takes place before the events of Book 1.>

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Side Story 28: Satsuma’s Necklace (Toshio Version)

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■■ Western Hyuga ■■

“Please, Nobutoshi-dono, you must take me with you!”

The six-year-old Hyugan pleaded with his eyes bloodshot and the shadows beneath them growing. Satsuma hadn’t left Toshio’s side since late yesterday afternoon when the chieftain’s son returned with his carving knife. The future emperor had lost it while fending off a coyote attack—an attack that may well prove fatal for his newest friend.

“Dhere’s nothing left we can do,” said one of the wise women before dawn. “His fever is growing worse. Dhe wound is infected...a rabid sand wolf’s bite can take down a horse! All we can do now is pray.”

Satsuma shook his fists. He had done plenty of praying at his friend’s bedside watching him cry out in delirious pain. As his condition worsened, it became clear that no amount of pleading to the spirits was going to save him. Nobu, the chieftain’s oldest son, agreed, though he was more concerned about who to blame.

“Dhis is all dhe sisam’s doing!” Nobu yelled, pushing through the crowded tent to reach Satsuma. The older boy towered over the future emperor, glaring down at him with eyes filled with rage. “It’s your fault Toshio is dying! Pah!”

He spat on the younger boy and—with his fist raised overhead—was about to punch Satsuma when Nobutoshi intervened. Satsuma didn’t understand much about Kondo culture or their family dynamics, but the intervention came in the form of a wicked kick that sent Nobu down to his knees gasping for breath.

“That is not how we treat guests in my home, Nobu! As for the rest of you,” the chieftain turned to address his warriors, each standing stoically with their arms crossed, “prepare to ride. We make for Nanbu Ranch. Our scouts have confirmed that Kyō-Kyō and the others from the northern tribe are held captive there.”

His words gave Satsuma an idea. For the Nanbu hadn’t just captured the Kondos, but his mother and Fujibayashi as well. The latter of which was a ninja skilled with medicines, poisons and the like. When Satsuma tried to plead his case, however, he didn’t get much further than the man’s name before getting interrupted.

“Fujibayashi...the Warrior of the Wind. I wouldn’t believe a child like you knew such a man, or that he would ever be out here in the Westlands, were it not for the necklace you’re wearing,” the chieftain said, gesturing to the ivory neckpiece encrusted with priceless jewels around Satsuma’s neck. “I have many questions to ask him, but for now...I’ll allow you to accompany us to the ranch. Hyugan medicine may be the only way to save Toshio now.”

Satsuma jumped in excitement and was right about to take off to pack his things when the chieftain stopped him. He gave the boy one final warning. “Whatever it is you do, Young Lion...keep that necklace close to you. Understand?”

Satsuma nodded even though he thought his new nickname was rather strange: though his spirit animal was a lion—according to Ume-Ume, who had read his palm back in Yamato—he didn’t recall ever mentioning it to Nobutoshi. Regardless, he had to hurry to fill up his knapsack with food and water for the trip.

He paid one last visit to Toshio before he left. To his surprise, the boy was awake and mostly cognizant. Enough to be in good humor, even.

“Dhink I’d rather die...dhan be saved be a sisam like you! Hehe,” Toshio said between hoarse breaths. “Riding with Papa and his men...you’ll never keep up with dhem. But take Kiso-chan with you. At least she...won’t let you...fall off…”

That was the last Toshio spoke before he dozed off into sleep. Satsuma put his hand in his, which was burning hot, and squeezed tightly. Though they hadn’t known each other for very long, and they came from entirely different worlds, he knew the two of them would become close friends.

“I won’t let you down, Toshio-kun!”

■■■■

“Dhat’s dhe most gentle mare I’ve ever seen,” said a Kondo named Oku who was said to be the best horse breeder in the tribe. Though the rest of the squad riding to Nanbu Ranch kept their distance from the Hyugan, Oku couldn’t help but be curious. It was obvious that Satsuma had no experience on horseback—yet he somehow managed to keep pace.

“Kisouma breeds like dhat tend to do poorly with unskilled riders, but dhis one is very kind. It seems very attached to you, too. You may have dhe gift, young one.”

Just as Satsuma was about to ask what the gift was, Nobu trotted his horse in between them. The older son of the chieftain sneered as he inspected the Hyugan’s horse. “Pft! A wimpy horse like dhat is useless. I bet it would run from dhe rain! Fitting for a sisam like—gaah?!”

*CLUMP*

Kiso-chan latched out at Nobu’s hand, coming from within an inch of biting it off. Flinching in fear, Nobu fumbled halfway off his horse—which was sent charging across the prairie. The other warriors looked on with laughter as the proud chieftain’s son cursed and yelled while trying to remount his steed.

Nobutoshi raised a fist into the air which caused them to quiet, and after retrieving his embarrassed son, he spoke to the group as a whole. “Keep alert, each of you! The Nanbu Ranch is right up ahead. We do not wish to make enemies of them. We are here to retrieve Kyō-Kyō and the others.”

True to his word, Satsuma soon found himself in awe as they crested over the hill. He had never seen a ranch before let alone the largest in the Westlands. Nanbu Ranch consisted of multiple stables, barns filled with hay as well as large, fenced-in grazing areas. And of course: hundreds of horses.

There was even an odd sort of track that wrapped around like a stretched-out ring, which Nobutoshi explained was used for racing. Visions of watching horse races filled Satsuma’s head—at least until one of the warriors spotted something else.

“Chief! At the center of dhe track—look! It’s dhem! Damn sisam have ‘em tied up in chains!”

Hollers and warcries broke out from the bunch, led by Nobu who was working himself into a frenzy. He wielded a bow with an arrow already notched and ready to fire. Nobutoshi had to shout in order to silence them.

“Don’t be fools! Put those arrows back in your quivers! We’re here to negotiate their release—not to start a war!”

Though war was exactly what seemed to break out after a bell began to ring from the nearest watchtower. It was followed by several more and accompanied by shouts of “Kondos” and “dirtskins”. The noise was enough to frighten Kiso-chan, who ignored Satsuma’s orders and trotted over to a nearby field to graze.

While Kiso-chan was munching on an early lunch, every rancher before them mobilized: they hastifully mounted their horses, readied their weapons and went into formation. They outnumbered the Kondos two-to-one, though many of them were field hands wielding little more than scythes and pitchforks.

There were a handful of samurai, however, yet they were nothing like the ones Satsuma had seen at the Capital. For starters, they wore an odd blanket over their armor. Their colors were green and their emblems gold, and instead of helmets they wore conical farmer’s hats made of straw. Each of them wielded either a bow or a spear, keeping their katanas sheathed at their hips.

Their steeds were perhaps more impressive than the riders: though they ranged in colors from spotted whites to browns, blacks and greys, their armor was of a uniform steel that ran from their snouts to their tails. It was in another league compared to the padded blankets the Kondo warriors used on theirs.

Though if the Kondos were at all intimidated, they made no sign of it. All Satsuma could say for certain was that he was glad Kiso-chan had decided to wander away. None of the ranchers were paying the two of them any mind as the negotiation started.

“Lady Nanbu, it’s a shame we have to meet under such circumstances,” Nobutoshi said to the small rider at the center of the samurai. Their leader was a middle-aged woman with greying hair and a steely gaze. A true wife of a samurai, she wielded a glaive and seemed more than capable of using it.

“I could say the same, Chieftain. I know why you’re here,” she said, before turning and pointing her glaive out towards the race track. “The bald one hasn’t stopped hollerin’ about you since we found ‘em. He’s enough of a sore that I’d almost pay you to take him off my hands, but it ain’t all that simple.”

“How so?”

“My husband’s gone,” Lady Nanbu replied, her words growing grim. “Headed out Ojita way on business. Ain’t no one heard from him or his group for a week now. Word is, one of the tribes got ‘em.”

“Not mine. We have no feud with the Nanbu. We’ve steered clear from your banners for years, and you ours. If Lord Nanbu and his company were taken,” Nobutoshi explained, “it was most likely an attack done by the Samku-Sainu. We have no relation with the Southern tribes in—”

“By the hells, why’s we listenin’ to this—hiccup—damned dirtskin?!” yelled the largest samurai of the group, mounted in the horse beside Lady Nanbu. He reeked of alcohol and introduced himself as Lord Nanbu’s brother, Nobunao. “We all know’s you’s a lyin’! Each an’ every…”

That was as much as Satsuma could overhear before Kiso-chan decided she was finished grazing on grass. For dessert, the mare wanted hay, and so she galloped over to the nearest stable in search of some. The boy atop her was helpless but to follow wherever the horse wanted to go.

“I’ve never been in a stable before,” Satsuma remarked. It was empty of horses—but that didn’t mean there wasn’t any evidence of them. He grimaced while covering his nose. “I never imagined it would...smell so foul!”

“You sayin’ our stables ain’t clean enough for ya?” a voice yelled from behind. It was young but tried its best to sound deep and bellowing; that combined with the odd Westlands accent made Satsuma giggle. “What? Quit laughin’!”

Minding his manners, the future emperor hopped down from his horse and bowed deeply to apologize. When he arose, he saw who he had insulted: a boy around his own age, though he was much brawnier than Satsuma was. His hair was short and untidy, and he wore a katana—though not at his hip. He wore it on his back instead, with a strap running across his chest.

“Gomenasai. I didn’t mean to insult the efforts of a stableboy. I only—”

“How dare ya!” the boy interrupted before pounding his chest. “I’m the son of a sam’rai—and not just any! My father is Lord Nanbu, and I’m gonna be the one who finds him! The name’s Kohaku.”

It was only after his introduction that Satsuma noticed the portly man accompanying Kohaku. He was a rancher by his attire and an officer of the law by his words. He introduced himself as Deputy Susumu, and from what Satsuma could understand through his accent, his job was to keep an eye on Lord Nanbu’s son.

“Koha-kun over here’s got a bad habit of rushin’ off after danger. I’m here to make sure he lives to outgrow it. Asides, your ma said she’d tan my hide if I let you take out one of the horses. I’m sure the sam’rai will find your pa all spit and span!”

Satsuma began to giggle before laughing outright. The phrases and sayings were so outrageous and colorful that the boy from Yamato couldn’t help but be amused. He had no idea people in the Westlands spoke this way—but he wanted to learn how to speak like them, too. Kohaku was many times less reserved and refined than his fellow students at the Capital.

The two kids talked about Fujibayashi and Satsuma’s mother, who Kohaku admitted were currently residing at his family’s house as guests—but only because the Nanbu were ‘hospitable folk’. Normally, they’d never trust a Hyugan who travelled alongside Kondos.

“But why?” Satsuma asked, perplexed. “They’ve been kind to me...oh, and they sing some great songs, too! Kyō-Kyō taught me one they only sing when they’re building a new house. They use the names of the future residents in—”

“I don’t care what they told ya! All they do is lie—everyone knows that,” Kohaku spat. He then gripped the hilt of the katana behind his neck and sneered. “You might be one of their spies, I reckon! Makes me sick to my stomach just thinkin’ about working for ‘em!”

Satsuma ignored the accusation altogether when Kohaku’s words made him remember why he was there in the first place. “Sick! That’s right...I need medicine! Please, my friend—he’s been bitten by a coyote and has taken up a terrible fever!”

Kohaku and Susumu exchanged glances, the latter of which tilting his hat as if to offer his condolences. “Mighty poor timing, I’m afraid. Only doctor worth his salt this side of the Celestial Sea is Etsuji-san, and he’s off ridin’ with Lord Nanbu.”

The samurai’s son scratched his chin while looking Kiso-chan up and down. He slammed his fist into an open palm before grabbing a spare saddle and putting it on the young mare. To Satsuma’s surprise, Kiso-chan didn’t seem bothered in the slightest.

“Koha-kun! What in tarnation...you know what your mother said! You’re forbidden to ride any of her horses outside the ranch!”

“Her horses,” Kohaku clarified with a grin. He mounted Kiso-chan and then leaned over to offer Satsuma his hand. “Seems like you and I got the same goal. So hows about we go for a ride, er...what’d you say your name was, again?”

Satsuma smiled, introduced himself and took Kohaku’s hand. He was well on his way to making a second friend!

■■■■

Lord Nanbu adjusted his farmer’s hat as the glaring afternoon sun bounced off the dunes. He took another look at the parchment in his hand and the imperial seal planted upon it. This piece of paper was why he was here in the White Hills—the middle of nowhere—with nine of his best men.

It was also why he was escorting a leper covered head-to-toe in the most ornately designed and embroidered silk robes the samurai had ever seen. Though in contrast to his elegant wardrobe, the man’s scent was downright putrid. Even after a week on the road together, the group still hadn’t grown accustomed to the stench.

“Fought alongside—and against—a lot of your types in the war,” Lord Nanbu remarked, trying to get his guest to speak. “A shugenja personally sent by the Emperor himself...I’m surprised you came to the Westlands alone! I would’ve expected a retinue of Shinsengumi, at least.”

After what felt like a minute or longer, the hooded figure gave a toneless, muffled reply. It was the same he had given dozens of times before. “Take me to the crest of the White Hills, Son of Nanbu.”

Whatever accent the stranger had, it wasn’t one the samurai lord or his men had ever heard before. They each exchanged uncertain looks and tightened the reins on their horses. It was bad enough that they were deep in Kondo country; the shugenja had sent them riding all around the desert for the past week, planting a piece of paper—a talisman—at seemingly random locations during their journey.

The men were growing weary and low on rations. If this mission wasn’t completed soon, he’d have to call it off and risk making an enemy of the Emperor. The aging samurai knew well the risks of having such an opponent: he still suffered from the wounds given to him in the many battles of the Golden Era, afterall.

“Hara-kun,” whispered Etsuji, a doctor and childhood friend of the samurai. “I did as you asked. I inspected his wrappings last time we camped. He doesn’t have leprosy. Moreover, those bandages he’s wrapped in...they’re a hundred years old at least! In all these days, we haven’t seen his shoulders raise once. Whatever that thing is...it ain’t breathin’.”

Lord Nanbu nodded as he gripped his katana’s hilt even tighter. His heart began racing, too, while a trickle of sweat came off from his brow. Whatever this creature was, he could no longer permit it to live. He got ready to unsheathe his katana and give the command.

That was when the shugenja dismounted from his horse, fell to his knees and clapped his hands together in prayer. He gazed upon the white dune before them as he muttered an arcane phrase:

“Byre onben ingefeallan, delfan!”

The world trembled and reshaped around them. Like a parting ocean, the sand around them shifted as if taken by an unknown tide while an almighty wind whipped across the dunes. The last Lord Nanbu and his men saw, in those final moments, were walls of sand twenty horses high forming up around them. They grew to such heights as to blot out the sky.

And then...they collapsed.

■■■■

“Hey! Wake up, already. Can’t believe ya’ fell asleep on the saddle!”

Satsuma was elbowed into consciousness by Lord Nanbu’s son until he awoke from his mid-day nap. The heat on the prairie combined with his lack of sleep from the night before made it difficult for the future emperor to keep his eyes open.

What he had seen with them, closed, however, was too remarkable to bring to voice. He had had dreams before, of course, but none this lucid—with the exception, perhaps, of the one in which he was chased by a lioness and led by a sea eagle into a herd of bears.

In this most recent dream, he had been walking across an oasis with square plots ahead of him in a line that spanned well into the distance. They were garden plots, not unlike the ones he had passed by in Yamato on his way to school. Each plot depicted a different arrangement: first was a bed of roses, then a sakura tree, a pair of pink tulips and so on. They were forty-eight in total, and thanks to a naturally gifted memory, Satsuma could recall every one.

After those plots was something even stranger: a sea of brass jars emerged onto the desert floor, rolling about the sand on their sides. They spun in circular patterns, making it near impossible to wade through them without stumbling. Once Satsuma did, he came upon something truly ridiculous.

“Your spirit animals,” Satsuma asked his companions, “could it be that they are a horse and a frog?”

Susumu, the deputy, gave a snort. “Now I don’t whose you heard it from, young feller, but mine’s the stream toad—not a wee frog, so don’t get it twisted! Still, heck and hell of a guess. Not too many toads like yours truly out here in the Westlands, I’d wager. Guess I’m just that special, I figure!”

Satsuma ignored the boasting, focusing instead on the last sight he had seen prior to waking up. Beyond the field of brass jars, a horse, lion and toad were wandering together through the desert. That alone was weird, but weirder still was what each of them were wearing: they were blindfolded and gagged. Raging sandstorms flailed around them, and...and that was the last Satsuma remembered before waking up.

“Sandstorms ain’t as common as foreign folk like yourself would expect,” Susumu said after the boy asked about them. “They’re mostly tall tales: like when a rancher has to explain to the missus why one of their calves has gone missing. Course, real reason was losin’ out on a bad bet. Speakin’ of which, best gambling hall in all the Westlands is right up shead: Salty’s Saloon. Not a bad watering hole, either.”

The trio had arrived in the frontier town of Ojita though it was unlike any town Satsuma had seen. The Yamato native was accustomed to large, imposing buildings standing side-by-side in rows that spanned as far as the eye could see. He was used to cobblestone streets, groups of women wearing the latest fashions of silk, and armored guardsmen at every corner.

Here, the buildings were mostly ramshackle: actively falling apart. They were spaced few and far between, each made in a different style than Satsuma had ever seen. Everything from the wood they were made out of to the swinging doors at their entrances were different.

By the time they reached Salty’s, Satsuma was deeply confused. “I don’t understand...where’s the pond? This doesn’t look like much of a watering hole to me.”

Susumu couldn’t help but laugh while Kohaku rolled his eyes. The son of Lord Nanbu clarified for him. “He didn’t mean a real watering hole. It’s just a saying for a place where men go to wet their whistles.”

His explanation only confused Satsuma further. The future emperor was beginning to feel more in common with the tribal Kondos than these Westerners—at least they didn’t speak in expressions all the time. In any case, according to the deputy, all news in the region reached Salty’s ears. If anyone knew where Lord Nanbu was, it was him.

After ‘hitching’ Kiso-chan and Susumu’s horse to wooden stakes in front of the saloon, the trio made their way in. The twangs from a sanshin—a popular local instrument with three strings—met their ears as the lingering scent of tobacco reached their noses. The place was mostly empty, it still being the afternoon, but it was lively all the same. Satsuma had already fallen in love with it and was the first among them to take a seat at the bar.

That seat was a stool: the first the future emperor had ever sat upon. It felt wondrous to be high into the air, and though it was much less comfortable than a pillow, it was many times more fun. He spun around it and observed everything from the memorabilia on the walls to the odd-shaped bottles lined up on racks behind the bar. Satsuma had questions about each and everything he saw, but the most pressing one pertained to the odd brass jar in the middle of the room.

The one that looked no different than those he had seen in his dream.

“That there’s a spittoon, kid,” the barkeeper said while raising an eyebrow. He gave Kohaku a smile and Susumu a nod. “See you’re on babysittin’ duty today, ay Deputy?”

The two shared a chuckle before Salty poured the officer a cup of his ‘usual’. Satsuma got laughed at when he asked for the same, and instead was served a cup of stale sencha tea. Though to call it tea at all was a generous statement.

“My father,” Kohaku said, his voice deadly serious, “he ain’t returned to the ranch in a week. Need you to tell us everything you know, Salty-san.”

The barkeeper twirled his grey moustache while going deep into thought. According to him, Lord Nanbu and his men had passed through Ojita four days back, escorting a strange fellow covered head to toe in fancy silk robes. No one knew who he was or what he came to the Westlands for, only that he smelled horrendous.

“I don’t like this none at all,” Kohaku said, grimacing. “Did they say where they were go—”

The young rancher was cut short when the doors bursted open, creaking after being kicked in by a particularly unsavory fellow with a large grin on his face. He was accompanied by several more types with the same demeanor. Even as inexperienced in the world as Satsuma was, he could tell these men weren’t the type you wanted to associate with.

Aside from being all men and mostly unkempt, the only thing they all had in common were the giant gloves they wore: they were made of leather and flared upwards, far enough to reach their elbows. To Satsuma, they looked pretty silly. He was wise enough to keep that opinion to himself, however, as he watched them take a table and start yelling at Salty for drinks.

Susumu turned to the two boys and whispered, “Best we get a move-on. Them’s be the Glovers Gang: group of tanners from out Dry Ridges way. Known for gambling and roughhousing.”

Satsuma didn’t know what a rough house was, but gambling had more of an interest to him—at least, he became reluctant to leave once one of the gang members pulled out a deck of cards. They were playing some sort of game involving stacks of ryō. Susumu had to pull the boy away from the bar, but not before the future emperor knocked over the brass spittoon with his foot.

“I know it’s silly but...maybe my dream was trying to tell me something,” Satsuma thought, though even the six-year-old thought it was childish. Regardless, the three of them left the saloon but didn’t get very far before Kohaku froze in place.

He began to shake at the sight in front of her: a giant Nanbu stallion, black-coated with a black mane, that dwarfed the rest of the horses hitched at Salty’s Saloon. Though it looked terrifying, its ears perked up upon the sight of Kohaku. It nuzzled against the boy’s face even as he was frozen in place.

“Midnight...Father’s horse…”

With a trembling hand, Kohaku unsheathed the katana on his back, gripping the hilt with knuckles white with rage. One of the gang members must’ve rode Midnight in, meaning Lord Nanbu was lost in the desert without his steed at best.

And at worst…

“Koha-kun! Don’t do nothin’ rash!” Susumu pleaded, though it was far too late. Kohaku ran into the saloon with his katana raised overhead, running straight towards the closest member of the Glovers Gang he could find. The target in this case was an older man leaning back in his chair, grinning at the cards he was holding. He was too focused on the game to realize that this would be the last hand he’d ever play!

*THUNK*

That was, until a brass spittoon got in the way. It rolled into the middle of Kohaku’s warpath, sending the boy spiralling forward and sending his katana spiralling harmlessly into a nearby wall. He collided right into the back of the gang member, causing chaos but nothing fatal. Satsuma’s eyes went wide with equal amounts of wonder and fear.

“Did I...change the future? Did I save that man’s life?”

It was a thought for another time as ‘that man’ grabbed Kohaku and tossed him into a nearby table, sending glasses and chairs scattering everywhere. The boy cried out in pain as his forehead started bleeding.

“By the hells! What sort o’ ship you runnin’, Salty, havin’ brats like these runnin’ around? Lucky that sword of yours missed, boy, or I’d have tanned your hide with it!”

Kohaku spat a wad of blood in reply. He stood up and staggered back to his opponent. One of his eyes were shut closed from the blood running down it. “Midnight! You stole him from my father, didn’t you?! That’s Lord Nanbu’s horse! What have you done to him?!”

The proud samurai’s son charged forward once again though he was far less formidable without his sword; a knee to the gut was enough to send him down on his knees.

“Finders keepers—that’s the way o’ the Westlands, boy!” he spat, missing the spittoon on purpose, aiming the wad at Kohaku’s face instead. “You damn Nanbu think you run this place just ‘cause of your fancy armor and swords. Ain’t no place for samurai here—or brats like you! Beat it!”

Deputy Susumu finally found the courage to intervene, stopping the fight after it was already over. Kohaku was bleeding and bruised, but the greatest wound he suffered was to his pride. The thought of losing his father’s horse to this lowlife was unforgivable.

Throughout all this excitement, no one had paid attention to Satsuma; the boy had taken a seat at the table completely unnoticed. Surrounded by the burly members of the Glovers Gang, the boy spoke up in a polite and regal manner.

“Excuse me, sir, I’d like to play a game.”

“What?! This here’s a gamblin’ game, boy, and you ain’t got nothin’ to wager!” the head of the gang said, growing frustrated by all this commotion. There was something akin to fear, too, seeing this strange child sitting among them without so much as an ounce of fear. He couldn’t place the accent either, though the brat sure sounded rich.

“So if I win,” Satsuma said with a sly smile, “I’ll get the black Nanbu stallion out front, correct?”

One of the goons slammed the table with his fist while another raised Satsuma up by his collar, plucking him out of his chair. “I don’t thinks you heard my boss. You ain’t got nothin’...worth...”

The rancher was dumbfounded upon the sight of Satsuma’s necklace. The boy rose it above his head and showed it off for everyone in the saloon to see. The jewels encrusted on the ivory band glistened even in the faint light of the dingy gambling hall. Its value was immense, and the men looked upon it with their mouths agape.

“I would like to wager this necklace for the horse,” Satsuma said, taking back his seat at the table. “Is that a suitable bet? Or perhaps...you are scared?”

The boy’s words quieted the entire room. The members of the Glover’s Gang gave each other long, uncertain glances before they all broke out in laughter. The entire table was in agreement that this was all a grand joke—and that this kid was the easiest mark they’d ever find in Ojita.

Despite Susumu’s protests, the gangsters were eager to play and were sporting enough to instruct Satsuma on how to play. The game was called hanafuda: it was a card with four different suits and twelve ranks. It was fairly complex as far as gambling games went, with varying card values and sets a player had to collect in order to score points.

Satsuma soaked in all the details like a sponge, however, asking questions that were far too insightful for a six-year-old.

“Alright, we playin’ or what?” said the gang’s leader and best player. “Let’s get this over with. We’re just gonna play one game: my horse for your necklace. You ready?”

“Satsuma-kun…” Kohaku whispered, tugging the future emperor’s sleeve. “You don’t gotta do this. This ain’t your battle...it’s mine.”

Satsuma’s eyes glistened as a smile crept onto his face, for as his opponent dealt out eight cards face-up on top of the table, the young lord noticed each to resemble the plots he had seen in his dream—and in the same order, too. When he received his cards, they were just as he imagined them to be...which meant he knew his opponent’s hand, too.

As for the spectators, the rest of the Glover’s Gang were having a jolly time cracking jokes and chugging bottles of saké, already celebrating their boss’s victory. It made it difficult to concentrate, though Satsuma managed to flip through his memory all the same.

“This ribbon card has the highest value on the table, so I should...no! The next card he’ll draw is the deer in the field of carnations...in that case I’ll pick up the single carnation card—it’ll block him from collecting the suit!”

Satsuma ended up picking up a low value card from the table, a move most players would consider a mistake. His opponent did as well, wearing a sneer on his face until he drew the next card and realized he was out on points. The game continued like that one hand after another, but while Satsuma was clearly enjoying himself...the same could not be said for his opponent.

“Shut up, you idiots! I’m concentratin’ over here!” he shouted at his men to cease their merriment. Looking at the field of play, Satsuma was in a superior position: he had more and higher-scoring sets collected while the number of cards remaining in the deck grew fewer and fewer.

It wasn’t until Satsuma put down a set including a crane perched atop a bed of lavenders that his opponent unleashed his frustration. When it became obvious that he’d lose, the gangster tossed the table over breaking half a dozen saké bottles in the process.

“To hells with this bet!” he yelled, pulling out his tanner’s knife. It looked more like a saw than a dagger but it was dangerous just the same. “Ways I see it, I’ll just take the necklace! Lord Nanbu’s son, too! Tie ‘em up, lads! I’m sure Lady Nanbu will pay a pretty price to get ‘em back!”

Talk about being a sore loser.

■■■■

The late afternoon sun hung mercilessly up in the sky, beaming down at three figures marching through the desert. Satsuma, Kohaku and Susumu were captives of the Glovers Gang: a group of tanners-turned-kidnappers after a game of hanafuda gone wrong. They were not the most professional group of bandits—having only recently joined the profession—and so there was plenty of debate among them as to what to do next.

“We’ll write ‘em a letter! Tell ‘em we got their son—stick a piece of his hair onto it too, make ‘em know we mean business!” one of them declared. While it was the best idea they had come up with yet, in the hour march to their encampment, there was one problem.

“Ain’t none of us can write,” the leader said, scowling as he fiddled with his new necklace. He kept it wrapped around his wrist instead of his neck—the latter had proven to be too large for it to fit around. That didn’t mean he hadn’t tried for the past hour to get it on, though.

Satsuma offered to write for them but was declined, not on the account that he would write something to betray them but that a boy’s handwriting would be too weak and effeminate to intimidate the samurai properly. That didn’t make much sense, but then again, little much they decided upon did.

The fact they forced the prisoners to march slowed the group down considerably, not to mention it made what they were doing all the more suspicious. More than a few ranchers had spotted them leaving the outskirts of Ojita.

Of the three captives, Satsuma was taking the kidnapping the best by far. Kohaku was sullen and fueled with frustration, struggling in vain against the rope that tied his hands behind him. As for Susumu, he begged for his life at every step. The fact that he was supposed to be an officer of the law was...embarrassing, really.

“Come on, fellas! I got me’s a whole family back home a’waitin’ for me! My ma’s heart will go out if she hears word of me being captured! You only need the boys, don’tcha? Let me go free—let bygones be bygones!”

The deputy's betrayal earned him the ire of Kohaku who released his pent-up frustration by headbutting, biting and kicking Susumu. It took three of the Glovers Gang to get the boy off him. To put it mildly, the mood around the group was poor.

Satsuma was beginning to grow weary, too—at least until a strong wind pressed up across his back. He recalled the dream he had earlier of the lion, horse and toad walking through the desert with their faces covered in cloth. As the winds began to pick up, he knew what he had to do.

“We ought to be blindfolded,” the future emperor suggested, “otherwise we’ll be able to tell the samurai where your camp is. You’ll end up imprisoned, hanged or worse if that happened!”

The gang of tanners let out a collective gulp as they considered their potential fates. They quickly rushed to find whatever they could to cover their prisoners’ faces, settling on hemp sacks used to carry animal hides into Ojita. To say they were stinky was an understatement.

“Great! Just great!” Kohaku yelled, flailing about in vain. “I can’t see...can’t hardly breathe, neither! You’re just makin’ everything worse, Satsuma-kun!”

As much as the young lord wanted to apologize, a part of him knew that this had to be done. He couldn’t explain why, but soon he wouldn’t have to: the horses—including Kiso-chan and Midnight—start squealing as animals often recognized danger well before people did. They felt the tremor in the sands and the humidity in the air begin to rise; what few clouds there were in the sky whipped across the ocean of pale blue in a hurry.

When the wind came, it came crashing like a tsunami’s wave upon the desert travellers. It was enough to knock grown men off their horses, and it didn’t come empty handed: countless grains of sand flew every which way as the floor beneath them began to spin. The members of the Glovers Gang cried out, scratching their eyes as the sand grated against their pupils.

They then began to choke as the sand invaded their mouths, making a run down their throats. Though the three prisoners couldn’t see what was going on, the sounds alone painted a horrifying picture.

After a moment to recover his nerve, Satsuma freed his hands from his bindings, having managed to cut himself free with his carving knife over the past hour in secret. The would-be kidnappers should’ve been more thorough.

While the hemp bag made it near impossible to see, he managed to crawl over to Kohaku all the same before carefully cutting the rope around the boy’s hands. By the time he was finished, the initial gust had ended. The two boys wasted little time to retrieve their most prized possessions: a necklace, katana and two horses.

Though just as they mounted Kiso-chan and Midnight, they realized they had forgotten someone. Kohaku looked over at a Susumu with a grimace, but after mumbling a curse word or two under his breath, he asked Satsuma to help rescue him.

“W-wait just a cotton pickin’...untie me, won’t you?!” the deputy pleaded.

“There’s no time!” Kohaku said as he and Satsuma loaded Susumu on the back of Midnight. It took all their strength and then some to get the overweight officer over. “Hang on best you can, Susumu-san. Midnight—ya, ya!”

Lord Nanbu’s son spurred Midnight forward like lightning through the clouds of sand. The immense power of the Nanbu warhorse was on full-display, and Satsuma found himself in awe—at least until he got a mouthful of sand from leaving his mouth agape. He decided it best to hurry along after them.

“Let’s go, Kiso-chan! Our journey isn’t over yet!”

■■■■

Satsuma’s eyes stung as the group made their way to the White Hills. It turned out that weren’t hills at all, but dunes whiter than any snow. The sand was made from gypsum: a mineral that made the landscape look like a sculpture carved out of alabaster. Though neither of his companions had ever seen snow before, Satsuma assured them that frozen water was nothing like this.

“It’s pretty—I’ll give it that much. Now how’s about we bottle some up as a souvenir and hightail it outta here?” Susumu asked, looking around nervously. “We’re deep in Kondo Country now, boys. When it comes to dirtskins, there’s savages and then there’s savages. The ones we’re liable to cross ‘round here are the latter.”

“Quit bein’ such a coward,” Kohaku replied, his eyes never rising from the map. He had found it on Midnight and it chronicled the journey Lord Nanbu had taken over the past week. He and his men had traveled all across the region in what looked to be a hexagonal pattern, the last stop being at the dead center of the White Hills.

Which was exactly where the three of them were headed right now.

As much as Satsuma wanted to enjoy the scenery, he too was absorbed in a piece of parchment. Though instead of a map, his was a letter: one with the Imperial seal planted atop it instructing Lord Nanbu to accompany a shugenja for a matter of the utmost importance. The only issue was…

“...this handwriting, it’s nothing like the one Father uses when he writes letters to Mother and me. Did he really write this?”

“Woah!” Susumu yelled, halting Midnight in his tracks. The deputy had a good reason to stop: an immense canyon opened up from behind the dune. His shout echoed within it and was joined by Kohaku and Satsuma’s as the children gasped at the sight. “Now I ain’t been ‘round this area for years, but...pretty sure I’d recall somethin’ like this!”

It looked like a chunk of Hyuga was missing—as if the gods had taken a giant shovel to the land. Kohaku was the first among them down, having spotted something in the distance. Excited for any sign of his father, he stumbled down the sandy cliffside with trails of sand rolling at his every step.

It was as dangerous as it looked.

“I’m checkin’ on ahead! You two take the horses ‘round where it’s less steep. Oh, and make sure to zigzag down ‘em so they don’t stumble,” Kohaku ordered. The two had little left to do but comply, though Susumu complained the entire way down. Getting down the canyon was easy enough—if a bit dangerous.

“We’ll just have to worry about getting back up once we find Lord Nanbu and the others,” Satsuma said to both the deputy and himself. Though his eyes had grown accustomed to the brightness, the ever present wind made the canyon shift around them. How Kiso-chan hadn’t gotten dizzy was a testament to her resolve.

But even her resolve had its limit—especially when she started getting hungry. Susumu’s stomach growled just then to further emphasize the fact that they had no supplies. The grim reality was starting to kick in: they were deep in the middle of nowhere, likely lost and definitely going to be in danger soon.

All those concerns faded from Satsuma’s mind, however, when he caught up to Kohaku. The samurai’s son was on his knees with his back turned to him. Though he didn’t make a single sound, his shoulders heaved repeatedly. Almost as if...he was crying.

“This helmet...it belongs to my Pa,” he said between chokes of air. In his arms, clutched tightly to his chest, was a samurai’s helmet: a traditional kabuto that Satsuma was accustomed to seeing in Yamato. This one was green with an intricate golden trim and matching emblem at the front.

It was also coated in sand.

Looking around, there was no sign of the samurai, their horses, or anything else upon the white canyon floor. Midnight lowered his head up against his master’s helmet and nuzzled against it, a gesture that caused Kohaku to start weeping in earnest.

Susumu stepped forth and placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, taking his hat off with the other. He placed it against his heart and spoke with the reverence of a priest.

“Haramusa Nanbu...we wouldn’t none of us be here without him. Us Westlanders were nothin’ but outcasts—dead ones at that, had he not come and shown us what true sam’rai are made out of! A rancher, a warrior...and a friend. They don’t make men like your father no more, Koha-kun.”

Watching Kohaku crying and hearing Susumu’s eulogy caused whatever composure Satsuma had to collapse. He didn’t know what to do: nothing in his life nor his dreams had prepared him for this, and in that moment, he felt very much like a six-year-old boy from Yamato who was well and truly far from home.

He missed playing alongside his classmates, trips with his mother to fancy teahouses, and stuffing himself full with taiyaki at festivals. It was such a comfortable and easy life compared to the one Satsuma lived now. A life in the Westlands where no one was safe, when you could lose the people closest to you from a sandstorm or a coyote’s bite...this life just wasn’t for him.

“I wanna go home,” Satsuma said as he clutched his carving knife—the last gift Emperor Seijirō had given him. It was a selfish wish, he knew, especially after witnessing Kohaku’s loss. He felt terrible about himself and how weak he was, becoming desperate to keep any and all thoughts away.

He meditated upon his father and what few memories they shared together back at the Capital. Dread began to fill Satsuma when he had trouble recalling his father’s face. The memories of man he so loved and respected were beginning to trickle away like sand off the top of a dune. In its place was the sight of his burning house and the cackling laughter of Lady Sakiko: the Lioness.

The despair of never being able to return home, to never see his father again, to be banished to this harsh and unforgiving wasteland...it hit Satsuma all at once. He realized that this wasn’t just a trip or an extended vacation. This was a permanent change. He was trapped in this scary world where there was nothing he could do but close his eyes and pray.

Luckily for the future emperor, someone was paying attention.

“D-did you hear that?!” Satsuma asked, looking around with his eyes open wide. “There it is again! And once more! It’s a lion’s roar!”

His companions thought he had gone insane—not all that unusual for those left out in the sun for too long. The boy had gone delirious, they assumed, especially as he began to press his ear against the canyon’s floor. At the very least, his antics gave Kohaku a momentary pause in his weeping.

“You, er, all right there laddie? You ain’t been hit by heatstroke, have ya?” the deputy asked in growing concern. Satsuma was on all fours, now, though instead of the lion the boy claimed to hear, he was acting much more like a dog trying to find an old bone.

He dug into the sand feverously. No words could reach him as he seemed possessed to keep on digging. Soon, he wasn’t alone: Kiso-chan began to prod the sand, too, with her front hoof. Kohaku joined in shortly after, using his father’s helmet as a bucket to hasten the effort. Susumu grumbled but finally pitched in, too, and a minute later...they struck gold.

Or in this case, something even better.

“T-there’s a chamber below! It’s hollow!” Satsuma exclaimed. Someway and somehow, a large pocket of air had formed beneath the sand. It was pitch black down below and there wasn’t a sound: save for the lion the boy insisted he could hear.

Kohaku was the first to volunteer to go down, lowered by a lasso tied around his waist. The chamber wasn’t too deep and, according to the young rancher, the floor was made of stone. Yells for his father got no response, and while there seemed to be a structure ahead, it was impossible to tell in the darkness.

Satsuma jumped down after him and in doing so, alleviated the problem. He didn’t carry a lantern or a torch—for they had none—but he did have something else: his necklace. Though he couldn’t explain why, the jewels embedded into the ivory neckpiece began to glow, emanating faint lights each in their own shade. The walls of the cavern lit up as if swallowed by a dim rainbow.

It made for quite the lightshow as the boy moved about. After more than a little encouragement, Susumu joined them as well. They would need the grown man’s strength soon enough as a large door made from marble blocked their path.

“Ain’t never seen nothin’ like this,” Susumu said with a gulp. “Still not too late to turn back, you two.”

Kohaku was far too determined and Satsuma was much too curious for that ever be an option, and so the three took up positions to push the door aside. It gave but just a little, and after no small amount of grunts, cursing and groaning they forced it open.

They were rewarded by a gust of stagnant air and lights from within; the immediate entry room was a short hallway with a set of stairs leading down—all of it made from marble—opening up into a grand chamber that stretched as far as the eye could see. That they could see at all was due to the many torches mounted on the walls.

The trio walked forth with careful steps—at least until they saw that the chamber was already occupied.

“Pa!” Kohaku yelled, recognizing his father. Lord Nanbu was lying down upon a carpet complete in his samurai attire—minus his helmet—and he wasn’t alone. Nine of his companions were there as well, each of them only just starting to awake from a deep slumber.

They each exclaimed their surprise, questioning not just where they were but why. Kohaku and Susumu were overjoyed that they were alive at all, and the reunion between father and son was as heartfelt as they came. But Satsuma couldn’t stay.

*ArROOAR*

The lion that no one else could hear continued to roar, beckoning Satsuma further into the labyrinth. The main chamber was a heptagon in shape: it had seven sides, and—excluding the stairs leading down to it—there were six lengthy, unlit hallways that branched off from it. The source of the roar came from the second on the right.

With nothing but the light of his necklace, Satsuma walked alone through what could only be described as an ancient ruin. Odd designs coated the walls of which the boy had no hope of deciphering. The air was more stagnant here, too, and with no sound but a dull murmuring to keep him company, Satsuma was rightfully terrified.

It was almost a relief, then, when he reached a door at the end of it. This one wasn’t made of marble like the one outside but of ivory and was worth an immeasurable value. There were odd indentations on it, too, forming a circular pattern with odd shapes jutting out around it. Beneath it was a written inscription in a language Satsuma had never seen.

Taking a step back—likely in fear—the boy realized that the door itself was contained within a torii: a wooden gate, painted red, that was often found in Shinto shrines. It made the ominous atmosphere even moreso.

Every thought the boy had was to run away. His mind had formed about a hundred excuses during his approach to do just that. He was well and thoroughly convinced that he ought to return to the others, and yet...a voice that wasn’t his own—and yet at the same time, was—told him to go forth.

“Be brave, Satsuma. You are the Young Lion.”

The necklace glowed even brighter, then, as the future emperor realized that the necklace itself was the key. He raised the neckpiece—the gift his father had given his mother and his mother to him—and placed it into the door. It aligned perfectly with the indentations.

But nothing happened. Not for a while, anyway, until Satsuma tried to remove it. The then door began to vibrate. It lowered on its own accord, slowly and silently, revealing the smaller chamber inside.

The murmuring he had heard earlier was unmuffled, now, as the boy realized the speaker was inside. They were chanting a magic spell. It wasn’t a magical ward keeping Satsuma from entering inside—the stench of death was enough to do that much. It was absolutely putrid in there, but with his lion to give him courage, he held his breath and stepped forth.

The chanting stopped when he entered. Satsuma took a peek over the corner to see a tall figure wrapped in silk and covered in bandages beneath. The man was kneeling down with his arms outstretched towards some sort of object the boy couldn’t see. He spoke with a voice like his throat hadn’t touched water in years.

“The ritual is complete. The Heavens remain unbroken for a generation more. Until we meet again, my brothers and sisters, fare—guAK!”

The cloaked figure began to gag as dust shot from out of his throat. His robes began to actively decay off his shoulders. He shrunk in height as his feet turned to dust beneath him, shortly followed by his hands and arms. A black gas forced itself from out of his mouth, spiralling into something Satsuma couldn’t see.

But once the boy stepped forth, the figure—in its last, dying breath—turned to take notice of him. Its eye sockets opened wide as the crumbling corpse recognized him. Not as a frightened, little boy, but as the lion emperor that he was.

“No! You shall not stop us! You shall not cut the heavens!”

That was the last the corpse said before it was rendered into nothing but dust, ash and smoke. The fumes funneled out towards the sole object in the room, to which Satsuma could now see.

And when he did, he didn’t believe it.

“This...this is…”

■■■■

Doctor Etsuji was more than a little nervous inside Nobutoshi’s tent while attending to the Kondo chieftain’s son. The usually spacious tent was currently cramped as it was filled with warriors and wise women inspecting the procedure. Of the two groups, the latter was more frightening, criticizing and second-guessing every step the doctor made.

They quieted up quickly, though, when Toshio began to open his eyes. The painful gasps of air quieted from the sick boy, replaced instead by howls of joy and laughter from those in the room. The medicine man had done what they couldn’t and was showered with praise. He was getting a feast as well as all the jerky and buckskin his horse could carry—whether he wanted it or not.

Satsuma had to wait an hour or more until the feast was underway before he could have a moment alone with his friend. Toshio was weak but alert enough to carry on a conversation.

“Can’t believe...I owe my life to a sisam. Is it true dhat you found dhem in a castle beneath dhe sand, Satsu-kun?”

Satsuma nodded. Though in the years that followed, few would believe him: for after the group escaped from the canyon, great winds reburied the ruins as if done so by magic. No, there was no ‘if’ about it. It was magic, Satsuma knew. And that wasn’t all he knew.

“I found more than just them, Toshio-kun. I found…” the future emperor paused, unsure of how to say it. There was so much to tell yet the six-year-old lacked the words to describe it. The best he could do...was this:

“I found out how the world ends.”