The broken world

For the first time since the assassination attempt, Gerel had an overwhelming urge to get drunk. In the kitchen, he found a scrawny apprentice cook greedily stuffing his face. The boy didn’t seem to care what he was eating — he just crammed food into his mouth like a starved piglet. Recognizing Gerel, the boy didn’t flinch, only grunted a muffled greeting through his chewing. Gerel shot him a dark glare in response. The bottles were where they always were: tucked inside a chest in the cool, dim corner of the kitchen. Gerel grabbed a few. It occurred to him that his enemies could have saved themselves the trouble and expense of hiring skilled assassins from Hidden clans — just a pinch of poison in one of these bottles would have done the job. Fortunately, no one had guessed that he sneaked alcohol from his own kitchen like some common thief. It was evening, and as a reddish sunbeam hesitantly broke through the clouds, painting the pots and pans a warm coppery hue, Gerel realized he hadn’t seen the sun in days. He thought he’d like to be on the roof right now — lying on his back, staring at the sky, watching birds fly overhead. It didn’t matter what kind, as long as they were there. Just lying there, doing nothing, thinking about nothing. Nothing was stopping him. Normally, he felt the constant, emotionless gaze of his guardian — the undead man who took orders far too literally and shadowed him everywhere. But tonight, Shadow was absent, likely distracted by some task. He pushed open the door to the roof and felt winter’s chill brush his face. Winters in Shinju were mild, but the sea made the air sharper than it should have been. Maybe he should return to his bedroom and leave the romance of rooftops for summer. But going back felt pointless. He sat on the edge of the roof, lined up the bottles, and quickly emptied one. Warmth bloomed in his chest, pleasant and comforting, though the sun had already disappeared behind the clouds. He drank the second bottle more slowly. By the time the third was half-empty, the door creaked open. Jin-ho stepped onto the roof. She surveyed the scene, stepped over the discarded bottles, and sat beside him. “Taking after my father now? Drowning your sorrows in wine?” she asked. “Trying to figure out what people see in it. Still don’t get it.” “What kind of person can’t even get drunk properly?” she teased. Jin-ho picked up one of the bottles that still had some liquid sloshing in it, tipped it back, and drained it in a single gulp. “Mind if I join you? Don’t bother answering; I can see you’re too far gone to care. I’m a great drinking companion, by the way. And it’s not like you’re in a position to refuse.” “Listen,” Gerel said, trying not to sound too harsh. “If I came here alone, it means I wanted to be alone. When I want company, I’ll let you know. Agreed?” Jin-ho set the bottle down but made no move to leave. “Nope. Not agreed,” she said, ignoring the warning in his tone entirely. “I came here as a friend, to tell you: drop this habit before it takes root.” “You came to lecture me?” She said nothing, only stared into his eyes, her wide, soot-black brows knitting together. That look made him uncomfortable. “This is all because of Yukinari,” she said at last. It wasn’t a question. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. And it’s none of your business.” “Is it true, what they’re saying about you two?” “Who’s saying what?” “I heard it from my father. Last autumn, when you were in Ryokoku on the diplomatic mission, one of your companions was writing to Tokhung. My father’s always been suspicious—you, of all people, should know that. He was worried about how much time you spent with the emperor. They say you two got along… as friends.” She hesitated. “Sorry. I know it’s not my place.” “It’s fine. We could have been friends, but we believed in very different things.” “When you came back from Ryokoku, you were different. It was like something had started eating away at you from the inside.” Gerel wanted to tell her, That’s definitely not your concern. He had to remind himself that Jin-ho was a friend — maybe his only one. “At least you can understand why I don’t like being constantly reminded that he’s gone,” he said. “But he’s not gone,” Jin-ho said, confused. “How can you say that, when he still thinks, still understands? Don’t talk about him like he’s someone else. He’s changed, and yes, Shadow isn’t the man you knew — but that’s no reason to hate him.” Gerel shook his head, saying nothing. Jin-ho pressed on. “If he still has his memories, his thoughts, his way of reasoning, then his soul must be nearby, just unable to find its way back. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought that your dear Yukinari could be brought back.” “Your dear Yukinari,” she’d said. Subtlety had never been her strong suit. “I told you I don’t want to discuss this with you,” Gerel said coldly. “Stop pretending to be a bigger ice block than you are!” Jin-ho snapped. “Just let yourself believe—” “He’s dead, Jin-ho. He’s gone.” “That’s nonsense. But if you want to wallow in guilt and do nothing, fine — sit here and keep drinking.” “I don’t remember asking for your advice.” “You don’t even remember who you are anymore. You’re a mess. I’ve known you as someone else entirely.” “I don’t care.” “Don’t care? You’d be dead without us—” She turned as she left, shouting over her shoulder, her voice high and angry: “They’ve given you a chance to fix everything, and you can’t even see it! There’s a miracle right in front of you — a man who should be dead, walking and talking — and you’d rather ignore it and become a drunken wreck. Have you even looked at yourself lately?” Gerel didn’t stop her. Snow began to fall. He sat there, staring at the tiles under his feet, noticing the bloom of mold that had crept across the eternally damp Ryokoku rooftops. White flakes spiraled in the air, slowly covering the tiles and the mold. The first snow of winter — or at least the first one he’d noticed, having spent most of his days locked inside. He wasn’t thinking about the mold, or the snow, or the empty bottles Jin-ho had knocked over when she stood. He sat like that for a very long time.   All summer, all autumn, all winter, he had taught himself to think of Yukinari as hopelessly, irrevocably gone. And now, a few thoughtless words from a foolish girl had torn down the wall he’d so carefully built. For the first time, he allowed himself to believe that the man who had been beside him all this time wasn’t a fraud, wasn’t a grave-scented monstrosity. It had been Yukinari. The real Yukinari, alive — impossibly, against the laws of the universe. Of course, now he was a pale corpse with empty eyes and no pity in his heart. His soul wandered in darkness, far away. But none of that mattered. Since the moment Yukinari had died, Gerel had lived in a fog, staring through clouded glass, unable to see the truth that had been in front of him all along. Yukinari had been there, and the Master Fox’s magic was no lie. And if that was real, then anything could be real. Dragons, unicorns, shape-shifting foxes, the Strangers, other worlds — anything could exist. Or at least, it might. Gerel had only encountered miracles of the cruelest kind so far. But so what? The world was full of evil and violence. That didn’t make miracles any less miraculous. No matter. Let Yukinari remain a walking corpse for now. Gerel no longer feared him. Somewhere inside that hollow shell, the true Yukinari’s soul still slept. Some selfish, cowardly part of his mind whispered: And if you can bring him back, what then? What will you say? “Hello, you’re alive again. Everything’s fine now. Let’s forget about how you died because of me, shall we?” Don’t be selfish, he told himself. Some things can’t be repaired or mended with gold or silver lacquer. He knew that. Nothing would ever be as it was. He didn’t want to bring Yukinari back for himself. He wanted it because it was the right thing to do. And he would do it. He’d find a way, even if it meant crossing the entire world and becoming stronger than the gods.