But when he died, Kichona’s borders barely skimmed the edges of the mainland. The mantle of the curse would have to be picked up by another disciple, who would, like his predecessor, offer the blood of many, many others.
Thus, it continued. There were periods of peace, when no one was foolish enough to desire what Zomuri had offered, not at so high a cost. But the avarice of men always rears its head again, and in time, another would try for what those who had come before him had failed to achieve.
But there was never enough blood to quench Zomuri’s thirst for glory in his name. Never enough for the god to grant heaven on earth. Therefore, it was not man who achieved immortality but, rather, the curse, which trailed their greed like an unshakable, eternal shadow.
The Evermore was never worth its price.
Chapter Ten
A crowd had formed in the center of the camp in Takish Gorge. The Dragon Prince walked to the edge of it. He cleared his throat.
The warriors turned. As soon as they saw it was him, they bowed and said, “Your Highness,” and stepped aside.
A path quickly appeared. Two taiga warriors from Paro Village had been captured that morning, and they were being kept in cages made of the skulls and femurs of foxes and wolverines and other forest animals, held together and unbreakable by magic. It was a specialty of another one of Gin’s soldiers.
The Dragon Prince strode to the cages and peered inside. “New recruits?” he asked.
The prisoner on the left gawked at him.
Was it because she was surprised to see him? Or was it the hideous scars on his face? Gin fought the urge to draw the hood of his cloak over his head. A true leader showed no fear. He had to project the aura of impenetrability.
Meanwhile, the taiga prisoner in the other cage spat at him. “I’d rather die than join a traitor like you.”
“Oh, really?” one of Gin’s warriors in the crowd asked. It was Skeleton, the one who’d built these cells. “Let’s see how true that is.”
Without his even forming a mudra or uttering a chant, the bones of the cage began to arc inward. As they did so, the bars splintered, turning into hundreds of bone stakes and spears. They closed in on the taiga rapidly.
“Stop!” her gemina cried.
Gin let it go on for another second, then held up his hand. The killer instinct in his warriors’ veins was a good thing. However, the taigas were not enemies. They might resist Gin at first, but they were part of the kingdom he meant to rule, to raise to great heights.
Once his warriors were abroad, though, Gin would unleash them and all their magic on their true adversaries.
On his command, the bones of the cage ceased their crushing movement inward.
The taiga in the cage quivered visibly, but contempt still glinted in her eyes.
“Skeleton,” Gin said, “I’d appreciate if you didn’t kill our prisoners before I’ve had a chance to decide what to do with them.”
“Yes, of course, Your Highness,” Skeleton said, bowing. “I let my excitement run away from me. Please accept my apologies.”
Gin turned to the prisoners. “I understand why you hate me. History is written by victors. I lost the Blood Rift; therefore, I’m the enemy. But the truth is, I care for Kichona as much as my sister does. We simply have different views on what’s best for the kingdom.”
The promise of the Evermore swelled in Gin’s heart. It was soft, like the petals of a golden rose trying to bloom, and yet it ached, for it was a dream so big, it couldn’t fully unfurl in the space of one human being. He wanted to share his hope with the kingdom, to make the fantasy a reality for all of Kichona.
It would, of course, mean sacrifices had to be made along the way. Lots of blood would be shed, but it would be outweighed by the happiness, the paradise, that would come. That was Zomuri’s point. Only a truly courageous leader would have the fortitude to do what needed to be done to achieve the Evermore for his people.
Gin had the ability to do it.
Actually, more than that. When he was born, Luna had passed over Aki but had chosen to bless Gin as a taiga. Then, after the Blood Rift, he’d been on the brink of death yet somehow survived. His warriors had fled with him overseas and nursed him back to health in the rugged mountains of Shinowana, where he recovered and discovered new magic. All these improbabilities couldn’t have been an accident. The gods wanted him to know he was special.
Therefore, Gin had the responsibility to pursue the Evermore, to bring the best future possible to his people. It burned like a torch in the center of his chest.
He looked at the two prisoners again. Gin focused on the air around him. His magic appeared, like the dust of a million emeralds ground into glitter, floating in the breeze.
Take control of their minds, he willed the sparkling green particles.
They streamed toward the taigas, flurrying around their heads in a maelstrom. The taigas couldn’t see them, and they stared ahead, oblivious. The magic funneled in through their ears and into their heads.
The effect was startlingly sudden. One moment, the taigas were scowling, and the next, they smiled. For them, Gin’s control of their minds would feel like the soothing sound from inside a conch shell. They were still themselves—mostly—but they could relax, no longer burdened by the stress of whether their own decisions would be right or wrong. Gin would take care of everything. His presence in their heads gave them the security and purpose they’d always hoped for.
“We are proud to serve you, Your Highness,” the prisoners said, their declarations coordinated through their gemina bond.
Gin nodded, swallowing the tinny aftertaste of what he’d done. He hadn’t needed to enchant any of his original Blood Rift warriors to follow his commands; they had believes in his cause from the start. But his plan to capture the Council at Isle of the Moon—and, in effect, control the rest of the Society—had failed, so now it came to this. If the Society wouldn’t join him willingly, he’d make them his soldiers by force. With magic.
It’s necessary, he reminded himself. This is for my people. My kingdom.
Gin interrogated the two taigas before him, and they told him everything he needed to know: someone had seen him here in Takish Gorge, the Council had sent them to investigate, and they were to send back a dragonfly messenger immediately with a report.
“If the Council is waiting to hear from you, I suppose I can’t compel you to stay here.” He thought for a moment. “You’ll return to Paro Village and report that you found nothing here except the trash from an Autumn Festival celebration. You won’t say a word about me or this army.”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
He ordered them freed, and they hurried away to return to Paro Village.
“Congratulations, Your Highness,” Virtuoso said. She was one of his most talented warriors and potentially his deadliest weapon. “This is so exciting. Your plans are falling into place—”
Gin held up a hand. Virtuoso was also one of the younger of his soldiers, and her unbridled enthusiasm was too much at the moment. “I have a headache. Order the camp packed up. I’m going to my tent to rest.”
It was a lie, the part about the headache. It was Gin’s conscience that hurt.
But he couldn’t let it stop him. Not for too long.
He’d been put on earth for a purpose—make the taigas and Kichona the greatest they could be. Bring glory to Zomuri. And give his people eternal joy and immortality.