Takamoto’s home turned out to be quite comfortable. Despite its sparse furnishings and unassuming exterior, the inside was warm and dry—especially once the Banqilun used his l’anti wand to heat the thin stone pillars that had been placed strategically around the single room. Yipachai balked at the casual use of Lan Banti at first, but he supposed warmth was necessary. Takamoto had also made an offering of tea for the mhonglun earlier in the day, so he was likely purified enough for it to be justifiable. Elder Satsanan had taught him not to judge others too harshly in their use of the art.

  After a full day walking, Yipachai slept so soundly that Takamoto had to shake him awake. He sat up and yawned, then blinked and tried to rub the sleep from his eyes. Light had already begun to trickle in through the hazy windows.

  “Come on, Yipachai,” Takamoto said, his voice terser than usual, but not unkind. “If you don’t get up now, you’ll have to eat your rice on the road.”

  Yipachai yawned again and scratched at his bare chest. “What’s the rush? I thought the Amigawa wasn’t that far away.”

  The Banqilun ushered Yipachai out of bed, swatting at him like a mother hen until he got up and moved to sit at the low table. Or rather, low for a Banqilun. It was quite a comfortable height for Yipachai, in fact. A bowl of steaming rice awaited him there, the scent of which awakened his hunger.

  “It’s not,” Takamoto said, turning and busying himself with washing the now-empty rice pot. “But if we’re late to meet Karu, my sister will make a scene.”

  Such an odd thing to worry about. Why would Takamoto’s sister be so concerned about the hour her son left for the city? Especially when Karu would have plenty of time to get there before nightfall.

  Perhaps Banqilun mothers were just odd that way. Though, in their defense, Yipachai didn’t have much experience with Hetanzou mothers either.

  Sensing Takamoto’s urgency, Yipachai quickly shoveled the rest of his rice into his mouth, then took his bowl over for the Banqilun to wash. The man was strangely particular about things today, and he outright refused Yipachai’s offer to help.

  Before long, they were outside and starting off to the west along the village’s central road. The wheels of Takamoto’s cart squeaked as they went, a high-pitched counterpoint to the low, huffing sounds of the buffalo’s breathing.

  The village felt somewhat different in the morning light. No one had bothered to take down the strings and tassels that had been strung between the eaves of the houses, leaving them to bob lazily in the breeze. A few wind mhonglun danced and floated around the tassels, their songs cheery and playful.

  Few others were outside at that hour. Perhaps they were all recovering from the previous night’s festivities? The sounds of merry-making had gone on until well after sunset.

  Four people stood just outside the town’s western gate—a wooden arch painted a bright orange. Takamoto waved to them as they approached, though the smile on his face seemed forced.

  “What took you so long?” the woman of the family said, her feastday makeup doing little to hide her sour mood. She had to be Takamoto’s sister. “And what are you doing with that Hetanzou boy?”

  Takamoto closed his eyes and inhaled slowly. “I just had to prepare the cart, is all. And this is my friend, Yipachai.”

  Yipachai bowed, arms at his sides. Maybe if he did it the Banqilun way, the tension in the air would lessen. “Hello, Miss.”

  The woman gave Yipachai a curt nod in response, seemingly no longer interested in the questions she had asked, then turned her attention to fussing over the young Banqilun man who still stood with the rest of the family. “I can’t believe today is the day my Karu is finally off to become the greatest duelist in Amigawa.”

  The young man—Karu—lazily brushed away his mother’s spindly fingers. As tall as every other adult Banqilun Yipachai had met, it was hard to believe Karu was only sixteen. He was certainly thinner than Harato, and had only the beginnings of a beard on his chin, but that looming Banqilun height made him seem older than he actually was.

  “Relax, mother,” Karu said, his voice a low baritone that made Yipachai feel suddenly insecure. “I’m not a master yet.”

  Takamoto gave Yipachai a sidelong look then rolled his eyes. “Since we’re in such a hurry, dear sister, don’t you think it’s time we were off?”

  “Yes, yes,” the woman said, then embraced Karu tightly. “Your father and I are very proud of you, dear. Our whole village goes with you.” A faint shimmer of moisture gleamed in her eyes.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Yipachai watched as Karu then faced his father, who still hadn’t said anything. Father and son bowed, then embraced. “Farewell, my son.”

  “Farewell, father.”

  Last of all, Karu turned to the youngest of the family, a girl around the same height as Yipachai—which meant Yipachai had no idea how old she was. Karu embraced her as well, then turned and nodded to Takamoto as he slung a pack over one shoulder. “I’m ready, Uncle.”

  “Right, then.”

  With a wave to his niece, Takamoto led them on, giving a quick jerk on the buffalo’s rope to get it to follow, cart in tow. Yipachai fell in line behind Karu, feeling unsure of himself. Should he try to talk to the Banqilun youth? Was it better to keep quiet? And what had caused Takamoto to be in such a strange mood? He had always seemed so easygoing and positive.

  “The woods are thicker on this side of your village, aren’t they?” Yipachai asked, needing something to finally break the silence.

  Karu didn’t respond, and neither did Takamoto. Perhaps they hadn’t heard him.

  “The woods are a little th—”

  “Yes, they are,” Karu said, turning at last to look down at Yipachai. His eyes rested on Yipachai’s sword for a few moments before he turned back around and continued walking.

  “I have this letter to explain the sword,” Yipachai said, reaching into the pocket of his trousers.

  “I think,” Takamoto said from the front, “you should focus on keeping that letter safe, Yipachai.”

  “What’s so special about this letter?” Karu asked.

  “It’s from Harato—the blacksmith that lives to the east of here? He made this sword and gave me the letter.”

  Karu actually stopped to turn around again. “You have a blade from Harato Tsukama? And how did you get that? Does he owe your parents money or something?”

  “Karu…” Takamoto said.

  “Erm, no. I don’t think he knows them. Me and Harato are just…friends. He made this sword for me for when I go to join one of the dueling schools.”

  Karu snorted. “A Hetanzou kid studying at one of the dueling schools of Amigawa? And which one did you think would take you?”

  Yipachai hesitated. He hadn’t planned that far. He had assumed that all the dueling schools were more or less the same. In that case, any of them would do. But if Karu wanted a name…

  “The West Flame school,” Yipachai said, trying to put as much confidence into the words as he could.

  Karu sighed. “Of course you don’t actually know anything about it. It’s the West Wind. But if any school is going to accept some random kid from the Het Kingdom, it would be that second-rate place.”

  “Enough, Karu,” Takamoto said, casting a sympathetic look back towards Yipachai. “We need to keep moving if any of us are going to make it to the city before sunset.”

  The younger Banqilun gave an indignant huff before turning back and doing as he was told. Yipachai watched Karu’s back for a few moments, then decided to study the forest around him instead.

  The trees were thicker here. Yipachai had heard that the western side of Amigawa was more forested than the east, but he hadn’t expected the change to be so apparent. As they continued on, the cedars and pines gave way to deciduous trees with denser foliage. More like the trees back in Honghsu near the monastery. These looked a bit dry, their leaves taking on a yellowish cast.

  With a start, Yipachai reached out with his mind. He hadn’t thought about Pingou since the previous evening. After a few minutes of searching, he sensed the heron to the south and slightly west.

  Yipachai quickly initiated a bond. Pingou! I’m sorry I forgot about you.

  A sense of puzzlement came from the heron. You did not forget me. You are speaking with me now.

  That’s not what I meant. I just…forgot to find you this morning to tell you where we were going.

  You did not need to come to me to speak with me. I am able to follow you easily. Without wings, you are quite slow.

  Yipachai took a deep breath in. Was everyone he spoke to today intent on insulting him? Had he done something wrong? Well, I’m glad you were able to find us without trouble.

  That same feeling of uncomprehension came from the heron, followed by a sharp stab of excitement. It seemed Pingou had found some prey. It was probably best, in that case, not to bother him further.

  Yipachai continued to plod along behind Karu, trying not to focus on how boring it was to walk in silence. He resorted to counting his steps, but lost track when the forest finally opened up on their right, revealing a vast expanse of blue.

  The sea.

  He hadn’t realized that their path had swung so far northward, but from their vantage, they truly weren’t far from the shore. A salty breeze cooled Yipachai’s sweat-sleeked cheeks, and now that he knew what to listen for, he could hear the soft sound of the waves against the rocks and crags. Glancing upwards, he saw a few wind mhonglun gliding on invisible currents of air, and said a prayer of thanks for the refreshment.

  Just as he was about to turn back to the hike ahead of him, a flicker of motion on the water caught Yipachai’s eye—a flare of something bright and violet. Something like flames undulating between the waves and…

  A ship with four sails. Heading east, back towards Het Kingdom waters.

  Yipachai knew it had to be a coincidence. It had to be impossible that he would catch Mangsut sailing back, just as he had originally seen him and his crew of bandits sailing west.

  “What are you staring at, kid?”

  Yipachai barely noticed Karu’s voice, keeping his eyes locked on the ship. It was too far away to see clearly, but the longer he stared, the more sure he was that those tiny figures on the deck had to be Hetanzou lowlifes, sailing that Montililun ship with the help of their acolyte slaves.

  His hand found his sword hilt and tightened. Returning to that ship was his mission. No matter how long it took, he would make his way back there and kill the men who had burned his home, kidnapped his friends, and murdered Elder Satsanan.

  “I said…” Karu started again.

  “My name is Yipachai,” Yipachai said calmly. “And I’m not staring at anything. Let’s go.” With an air of cool disinterest, he shoved past a speechless Karu, taking his place behind Takamoto and the cart.

  Eventually, he heard Karu’s heavy footsteps start up again behind him.