The fifth year of Emperor Bidatsu’s reign, Uzuki. Asuka, Tachibana Palace.
The sky had been raging since before dawn.
Black and white clouds wheeled above Tachibana Palace, chasing one another in great circles. From east to west, then west to east. It looked as though a gigantic black dragon and white dragon were biting each other’s tails, dancing through the heavens in a spiral.
Hail began to fall.
Ice pellets the size of a pinky’s tip pounded the palace roof, bounced across the gravel in the garden, and whitened the surface of the pond with foam. Thunder rumbled in the distance—a low, lingering sound rolling in from beyond the mountains.
The people of the palace huddled beneath the eaves, looking up at the sky with troubled faces.
Toyomimi sat on the veranda.
Hail struck the boards at his feet, and the rebounding ice pellets hit his cheek. Cold. But Toyomimi did not move away. Hugging his knees, he looked up at the sky and smiled.
The edges of the black clouds glowed white. The bellies of the white clouds darkened gray. The two clouds pushed and pulled against each other, changing shape as they went. Whenever lightning boomed, the depths of the clouds turned purple for an instant.
Toyomimi’s eyes tracked the clouds’ movements. The direction of the wind. The speed of the clouds. The hailstones had grown smaller. Smaller than before. The intervals between thunderclaps had lengthened.
The storm was not approaching. It was trying to pass by.
Toyomimi smiled.
They would come today.
The first to arrive was Rōhina.
As the hail began to slacken, two horses came galloping through the palace gate, splashing mud. Rōhina rode one, and a Tengu envoy rode the other.
Rōhina dismounted and wrung out her wet hair with one hand. Her blue-gray eyes swept over Tachibana Palace, blurred by rain. Travel mud spattered her skin, pale as porcelain. Iron clanged inside the cloth bundle strapped to her back.
“So this is Asuka.”
Her voice was low. She murmured the words as if to herself, then passed through the palace gate.
The next to arrive was Nagi.
From the south, wrapped in the scent of the sea.
Nagi wore a sedge hat and rain cape, with the Eight-Forked Naja Hatchet wound around her waist. Raindrops streamed down her sun-darkened face, and she did not even wipe them away. Her body was accustomed to being battered by rain at sea.
When the Tengu envoy greeted her at the gate, Nagi removed her hat and looked up at the palace.
“It’s big.”
That was all she said before walking on.
The third was Kana.
As the rain began to clear, she appeared on the western road accompanied by the calls of birds.
A small bird perched on Kana’s shoulder. Perhaps it had followed her the entire journey; it was preening itself by working its beak through Kana’s hair. The clothes wrapped around her tall frame should have been soaked, yet Kana seemed not to care. Peacock-feather ornaments swayed against her russet skin.
She stopped at the palace gate and looked up at the sky.
“The clouds are making an interesting shape.”
She smiled, speaking to no one in particular.
The fourth was Amaori.
No one noticed her arrive.
When the gatekeeper turned around, she was already standing inside the gate. No one had heard her enter or sensed her presence, and no one knew where she had come from.
She was small, dressed in clothes the color of the forest. Her hair fell across her face, revealing only her eyes. Those eyes swept through the palace in an instant: the positions of the pillars, the width of the corridors, the number of people, the escape routes.
When the Tengu envoy spoke to her, Amaori said nothing. She merely nodded.
The fifth was Sugaru.
She came last.
The hail had already stopped. As a thin light began to shine through a break in the clouds, Sugaru came running from the eastern road.
She was running.
Not on horseback. She was running at full speed on her own two feet. The Tengu envoy was chasing after her on horseback, but Sugaru was faster.
She charged through the gate, skidded across the gravel, and came to a stop. Her breathing was ragged. Her cheeks were flushed. Her entire body was soaked with sweat and rain.
“I’m late!”
No one had said she was late.
Sugaru looked up at the palace, her eyes widening.
“It’s huge.”
Then she braced one hand against a gate pillar and caught her breath. Suddenly, she looked up at the sky.
“The clouds look like dragons.”
Her voice reached Toyomimi’s ears from the veranda.
Toyomimi stood up.
The five princesses were each shown by a Tengu envoy into a preparation room.
Tachibana Palace began to change.
Footsteps multiplied in the corridors. People carried water, carried clothing, and started fires. The palace attendants hurried everywhere. They boiled water for five baths, prepared five sets of clothing, and arranged five trays of food.
It was not unusual for guests to visit the palace. But today’s guests were different.
Princesses of the Six Kowakuni Clans, descended from the bloodlines of Izumo. People of the mountains, sea, forests, and rivers, with no ties to the court at Asuka. The palace attendants moved back and forth outside the preparation rooms, their faces divided equally between curiosity and unease.
The sky gradually began to settle.
The black clouds drifted east, the white clouds thinned, and the breaks between them widened. The trees in the garden, battered by hail, glimmered with wet leaves. The birds returned. Sparrows burst from beneath the eaves and hopped across the wet gravel.
As though the five princesses were gradually settling into the palace, the sky, too, was growing still.
Half a shaku before sunset.
The sun showed its face through the gap between the earth and the black clouds.
The setting sun was fierce.
After a day spent dark beneath the stormy sky, Tachibana Palace was struck by light from the side. The plank floor of the great hall turned red, the shadows of the pillars stretched long, and the ceiling beams shone gold.
The great hall.
At the head of the hall sat Prince Tachibana no Toyohi. Princess Anahobe no Hashihito sat to his right, with Toyomimi between them.
Prince Toyohi wore formal robes and sat with his back straight. Princess Hashihito sat quietly beside her husband. Her silk robes had come from Baekje, and small lapis-lazuli earrings adorned her ears. She carried the air of a foreign land about her, yet had blended into the palace at Asuka. Between his father and mother, Toyomimi sat upright in his small body. The setting sun illuminated the profiles of all three.
Six places had been prepared at the lower end of the hall. Mats had been laid out, trays arranged, and water set down.
Six.
Imibe sat in the center of the great hall, waiting for the princesses.
The Tengu envoys waited in the corridor outside the great hall. Wearing swords at their waists, they knelt with their knees together in the shadows of the pillars.
The princesses entered.
One at a time.
First came Rōhina, changed and washed clean of the mud from her journey. But she was not wearing palace clothing; she wore her own. It was the thick, short-sleeved cloth worn by Yama Clan smiths. Her bracelets made a metallic sound as she moved. Her blue-gray eyes surveyed the great hall, then fixed on Prince Toyohi and Toyomimi at the head of the room.
Next came Nagi, changed into the clothing of the sea people. Designs of flowing water and whirlpools had been inked onto her arms and ankles. The patterns stood out against her sun-darkened skin.
Kana followed. She had tied her long hair behind her and stuck a single peacock feather ornament into it. Her white clothes stood out against her russet skin, and she was tall. When she entered the great hall, the setting sun made the feather ornament shine in rainbow colors.
Amaori came last—or should have. Before anyone realized it, she was already seated. She wore forest-colored clothes. Her hair fell across her face, and only her gleaming eyes showed through.
Sugaru entered a little short of breath, last of all. She must have run the whole way. Her cheeks were still flushed. She took her seat with the sacred sword Toyokaku Muko still strapped to her back.
The five princesses lined up at the lower end of the hall.
The setting sun illuminated them one by one. Rōhina’s iron bracelets gleamed, Nagi’s whirlpool patterns emerged, Kana’s feather ornament scattered rainbows, Amaori’s eyes glowed darkly, and the hilt of Sugaru’s sword turned red.
The sixth seat was empty.
No one mentioned it.
Imibe opened his mouth.
“Today, we have gathered the princesses of the Six Kowakuni Clans to accompany Prince Toyohi’s child, Toyomimi, on his journey.”
Imibe’s voice was gentle, yet carried clearly to every corner of the great hall.
“First, if you would, please tell us your names and origins, one at a time.”
Imibe’s eyes turned to Rōhina, seated at the far right of the lower row.
Rōhina paused for a moment.
Then she rose.
“Rōhina of the Yama Clan.”
Her voice was low, like the voice she used when speaking to iron in the forge.
“We take the Tengu as our ancestor. The Metal Path. We live on the northern shore of Lake Biwa.”
Rōhina looked at Toyomimi at the head of the hall. The five-year-old boy was looking straight at her. For the briefest instant, Rōhina’s eyes wavered.
“I forge iron. I forge swords. That is my craft.”
With that, she sat down.
Nagi stood.
“Nagi of the Naja Clan.”
The wind of the sea mingled with her voice.
“We take the naga deity as our ancestor. The Wood Path. We live in the Kandō Plain of Izumo.”
Nagi raised her sleeve slightly, showing the whirlpool designs on her arm.
“We read the stars, the tides, and the wind. We grow rice and mark the calendar. That is the duty of the Naja people.”
Nagi glanced at the empty sixth seat, then quickly looked away.
She sat down.
Kana stood.
The mere act of her rising changed the air in the great hall. She was tall. With the setting sun behind her, her shadow stretched long.
“Kana of the Garan Clan.”
Her voice was gentle, but it had a core of strength.
“We take Garuda as our ancestor. The Wind Path. We live in Aki, on Itsukushima.”
Kana smiled.
“We understand bird-speech, grow medicinal herbs, and dance. We are the inheritors of the method for making the immortal sweet dew, Amrui-ta.”
Pride touched the edges of her words. Quiet, but certain pride.
She sat.
Silence.
It was Amaori’s turn.
Amaori did not stand. Remaining seated, she spoke in a low voice.
“Amaori of the Ame-taka Clan.”
Imibe began to say something, but Amaori continued without stopping.
“We take the Tsuchigumo as our ancestor. The Earth Path. We live deep in the mountains of Kumano, in Kii.”
That was all. She spoke of neither craft nor duty nor pride.
The setting sun fell across Amaori’s face. Through the gap in her hair, her eyes looked toward the head of the hall for an instant—at Prince Toyohi, at the imperial family, at one descended from the bloodline of the Heavenly Descendants.
Only Toyomimi saw what was in those eyes.
Amaori lowered her gaze.
Sugaru stood.
She sprang to her feet so energetically that her knee struck the tray, making the water tremble.
“Sugaru of the Kaku-kari Clan. Call me Sugaru.”
Her voice was loud, echoing through the great hall.
“We take dragons as our ancestors. The Fire Path. We live in the mountains of Izumo.”
Sugaru puffed out her chest.
“I’ve captured dragons. I use wasps, and I have techniques for lightning. The sacred sword Toyokaku Muko is my sword.”
Having declared this, she gave a broad grin.
Then she happened to look toward Toyomimi at the head of the hall.
“You’re Toyomimi?”
Imibe cleared his throat.
“Lady Sugaru, the order—”
“You’re small.”
Sugaru looked at Toyomimi and said it bluntly.
Toyomimi smiled.
“I am small. I’m five.”
“Five! You’re smaller than my little brother.”
“You have a little brother?”
“I don’t. But if I did, he’d probably be about your size.”
Imibe put a hand to his forehead. The corners of Prince Toyohi’s mouth had lifted ever so slightly.
The five princesses had finished introducing themselves.
The setting sun sank lower, and the light in the great hall shifted from red to orange.
Imibe looked at the sixth seat.
“Lady Mizuwa of the Fuchi-kami Clan—”
Imibe broke off.
“She has not arrived yet.”
A brief silence fell over the great hall.
Sugaru tilted her head.
“There’s one more?”
“There are six clans.”
“Then we wait?”
Imibe did not answer. He stared at the empty seat. For an instant, a light—neither quite calculation nor quite unease—flashed in his eyes.
Toyomimi was watching Imibe’s eyes.
This person would be troubled if all six did not gather.
The five-year-old understood that much and kept silent.
The silence was beginning to grow heavy.
Then a voice came from the head of the hall.
“Gorosne eed?”
It was Princess Hashihito.
Her voice was gentle, yet carried to every corner of the great hall. She had spoken in Persian.
You must be hungry.
All five princesses looked up at once.
Kana was the first. Her eyes widened, and then she smiled like a flower opening.
“Bale.”
Yes.
With that single word, the great hall burst into life. Nagi snorted with laughter. The corners of Rōhina’s mouth lifted, and a soft light appeared in her blue-gray eyes for the first time. Sugaru cried, “What is it, what is it?” Then she looked at Nagi’s face beside her and started laughing too.
Amaori alone made no sound. But the eyes peering through her hair widened just a little.
They were words from the Jūsara People. Words from those who had come from the same land long ago. Their resonance remained deep within the princesses’ bodies.
Princess Hashihito smiled.
“Beyayid, hamra-e ma ghaza bokhorid. While we wait, let us eat together.”
Laughter spread through the great hall.
Prince Toyohi stared at his wife, bewildered.
“Hashihito, what did you just—”
Toyomimi laughed aloud.
“Mother spoke Persian. She said, ‘You must be hungry. While we wait, let’s eat together.’”
Prince Toyohi looked from his wife to his child, then at the princesses. Kana was laughing. Nagi was laughing. The corners of Rōhina’s mouth were lifted. Sugaru was making a commotion, crying, “What is it, what is it?”
Prince Toyohi gave a great nod.
“Very well. Then so be it. It’s a feast!”
His voice rang through the great hall.
Imibe began to say, “But the order—” and no one was listening anymore.
The palace attendants began carrying in the trays. Sake appeared. Dried fish appeared. Stewed mountain vegetables appeared. Steam rose, scents spread, and the air in the great hall changed.
Sugaru picked up her chopsticks first. Nagi poured the sake. Kana offered a bowl to Amaori beside her. Amaori hesitated for only a moment, then accepted it in silence.
Rōhina took a sip of sake and closed her eyes. Her white cheeks blossomed a faint cherry pink.
Beside her mother, Toyomimi held a bowl in his lap and looked around the great hall.
The five princesses were laughing.
Princess Hashihito gently stroked Toyomimi’s hair.
The setting sun cast its final light. The great hall turned orange, warmly illuminating the faces of the five princesses. Laughter mingled with the sounds of chopsticks and sake being poured, and the night at Tachibana Palace was about to begin.
The tray remained set at the sixth seat.
As though waiting for someone to come.