II

"The shamans say rain's coming."

"That's good."

"More than usual."

Rinkah continued to shovel rice in her mouth. Most years they never got more than light drizzle, and he knew just as well as she did how sensitive their crops were to overwatering. She hated the policy—hated it the entire three years they'd been living under it—but thus far there'd been no major hiccups. Her husband took this to mean it would succeed in the long term, and she was dreading having to deliver the news that that wasn't so.

"How much?"

There was no more rice in the bowl. Rinkah placed it on the table harder than necessary, wood clashed to wood. She dragged the back of her hand across her mouth.

"Rinkah." He sounded oddly breathless for someone sitting still. "How much rain?"

She took a chopstick and dragged it along the warped grooves of their wood table. "We don't know."

Kaze exhaled hard. "Good. If we're lucky it won't be by much."

"Did I ever tell you about the time Saizo broke our matron's statue?"

Rinkah and Kaze were in bed. The summer heat roared over them in waves. She tried to ignore the stale wanting that had settled on her like a second skin, the dull ache in her stomach. Instead, she chose to lay her head on Kaze's chest and listen to the thrum of his heartbeat. "No, you never told me."

"We had just finished our morning prayers in her temple. We knew as soon as we stepped outside our training would begin, and we were still young enough to want to stall for time. So we took to horsing around… one thing led to another, and Saizo wound up kicking her statue clear across the room!"

Rinkah snorted. "And what happened?'

Kaze wrapped his arm around her shoulders, combing his fingers through her matted hair. "Our father heard the crash, of course. Saizo got twenty lashes for his carelessness, and I got ten for not stopping him in time."

Rinkah sucked her teeth. It seemed Kaze's childhood stories always involved him getting smacked around for something Saizo did. Still, her husband's tone was light with amusement as he continued. "And then, of course, he had to replace it. We needed one fast, and what he wound up sculpting was so crude it looked like it came from the bones-and-sticks era."

Rinkah yawned. "Well, no one ever said he was an artist."

She could hear the smile in his voice. "And yet, we never felt her presence more. It's still up in Igasato's temple today."

She wondered if she'd ever get to see it—not that Kaze's old goddess mattered, of course. "The good gods have a soft spot for children. I know ours pays special attention to prayers said on their behalf."

"Then hopefully he'll grant our wish soon."

Her father liked to pretend she wasn't married, but it didn't stop him from needling her about getting pregnant. The tribe needed inheritors, and as the chief's only surviving child it was her duty to provide them. "People have been talking."

Kaze stared hard at the ceiling. "Then they should give us one of theirs if they're so concerned about it."

"You know they would never. It's a curse to abandon your blood."

"Right."

They fell to silence. Their tribe considered children the greatest blessing the God of Flame could bestow; families with six, seven, or eight were not an uncommon sight. They had been trying since their wedding night to conceive, but five years in and she was beginning to wonder if they'd even be worthy of one.

"Do you remember how my father treated Orochi during her failures?"

"I remember." How could she forget? He banished her from Igasato no less than five times, one for every miscarriage she had. She stood with them once while Saizo eased the way for her return, and she didn't hold anything back. He says I'm not a real woman. Says I'm only as useful as the number of sons I give them. Rinkah knew the words weren't meant for her, but they still stung, especially as someone who had never been pregnant at all.

What good are you if you can't have children?

"When I went to visit last week, she told me how she finally brought number six to term. She went to the riverbank on the first day of spring. There, she prayed to give birth to a boy whose legacy would totally eclipse Saizo the Fourth's. And, well… you know my nephew was born the following winter."

"May his first years be blessed and may he live one hundred more," she recited compulsively. She propped herself up on her shoulder to get a better look at him. "Father badgers me, but he isn't cruel about it. I have no reason to spite him."

"I know, that's not the point. What I'm trying to say is, Orochi had to manifest Saizo the Sixth before he came through her body. Maybe we could ask her to do the same for you."

A few weeks later, she and Orochi stood before the Great Fire Pit. It was well into the bright-night, and there was no one around to question why an Outsider was so close to their living shrine. After asking receiving the God of Flame's permission, Orochi created a temporary altar to the river goddess who helped her carry her son to term; she made libations to them both, and then set up a circle of charms around herself, Rinkah, the water altar and the edge of the fire pit.

"We're ready to begin." Orochi took hold of Rinkah's hands, gold bracelets clattering against each other. "Close your eyes, take several deep breathes, and empty your mind."

Rinkah did as she was told—or, she tried to. She wasn't very adept at meditating, and her mind naturally drifted tribal concerns, the most pressing being the prediction of the unusually heavy rainy season. The rain… the exports… ruined crops… a way to heal them? No, that's stupid… is it? No, it has to be stopped before that, it—

"Now, I need you to imagine the sort of child you want to bring into the world."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean exactly as I say. Do you want a fighter? An artist? A philosopher? There are many different souls in the ether, all wanting the human experience. Bring to mind the one you want. By doing this, you'll invite that soul to come through your body."

For as much as she wanted (and needed) a child, she had never given much thought to what she wanted them to be like. The word 'warrior' came to mind, but when she tried to conjure what that meant, all she could picture were dead crops being healed, bones, mysteries, rainwater, wombwater. The ominous policy. Money. Plants again. Green. It was the color where she caught herself, tried to redirect her thoughts to imaging the warrior the Flame Tribe needed, but it couldn't be erased. The color permeated everything. Green plants. Green water. Green potions. Green paper. Green weapon. Green borders. Green sky. Green spark.

"The God of Flame represents all that is true, the illumination of consciousness. The Goddess of Riverbanks carries our wishes for us. May the spark be carried to completion."

"I don't think it worked."

Rinkah had just carried out the last of Orochi's instructions, but even while she was riding Kaze she couldn't get the blasted color out of her mind. With the rate she was going it would come out with green skin, and she'd rather have no child at all than something that strange happen.

"Don't say that." He was still slightly out of breath. "It'll work. We'll get the child you manifested."

But she didn't want that child. She knew the tribe wouldn't, either.

This can't be happening.

She stood in the center of their vegetable fields. Humidity from the week-long deluge boiled in silent waves across the ground as their farmers toiled, wrenching up from the ground spoiled crop after spoiled crop. Wild dogs sniffed at the baskets filled with rot before scurrying away. Rinkah stood paralyzed at the center of it all, the late summer heat settling into her skin.

Kaze pinched the bridge of his nose and spread his fingers across his eyes. He was covered in dirt. His damp shirt clung to him, and he was heavy with exhaustion after a full day of 'harvesting'. He didn't wait for her to ask. "I would say about ten percent is salvageable."

He might as well have punched her in the gut. "Okay, well…" she shrugged, helpless. "We have to keep what's edible."

She expected some flowery defense of the Dawn Dragon's 'precious children', but Kaze simply nodded in agreement. "I'll go to Shirasagi with the escorts tomorrow and request a supplementary import."

"Rinkah!"

She turned and saw a small child running to her. "The chief said you have to come, quick!"

When the rains finally stopped that morning, she ran to survey the fields around the Flame Tribe villages; she hadn't given a single thought to the Great Fire Pit. But even if she had come immediately, there was nothing she could have done. The rain flooded it completely. Stocks of swollen wood floated listlessly on the surface. Scores of children—at least, the ones not out in the fields—scurried frantically around the edge, carrying out water in jars and bowls and vases and their cupped hands.

She helped as much as she could, but the damage had already been done. The God of Flame tasked them with keeping his living shrine alive, and they had for nearly a hundred and forty-two years. The last time it went out, the Flame Tribe endured an unprecedented period of poverty that culminated in their invasion by the Earth Tribe.

It was a piece in Flame Tribe history that their public curriculum glossed over, but one day her mother told her and her siblings about it in-depth. Even then she knew it wasn't truly meant for her, the baby of the clan; but she still remembered everything.

The Earth Tribesmen were a nomadic people who passed their time hunting game, carving crude pictures into stone, and working to make more little barbarians. They seemed to roam in no particular pattern, moving amorphously about Hoshido—and it was in this way they eventually stumbled upon their valley, ravaged by the God of Flame's punishment.

It was like a wolf finding a wounded lamb: the takeover was immediate. The old chief was beheaded, their men were enslaved, their women were forced to marry and breed with the Earth Tribe warriors. The barbarians were quick to realize the importance of the Old Fire Pit and filled it with dirt and stones.

The occupation lasted seven years, and in that time no one came to save them. Many of their people came to believe that the God of Flame abandoned them, but one day, an ordinary woman risked execution by digging a hole in the ground, lighting a fire, and dedicating it to her old deity. He was so touched by this show of devotion that he granted her his blessing; with this divine aide, she went on to organize a rebellion so finely calculated that the invaders knew nothing until it was too late.

It was like a log in the pyre: once the Earth Tribe was ensnared, they couldn't escape it. The Flame Tribe burnt their leaders alive and beheaded all the other adults. Once there was no one left to stop them, they took all the Earth Tribe children—even those born to Flame Tribe women—and threw them into the Great Fire Pit as an offering to the God of Flame, asking that ten thousand children be born for each one that was sacrificed.

The leader of the rebellion was their great-great-great-great grandmother, and her sacrifices—which included two of her own children—turned her into a legend. The Flame Tribe still held onto many of her edicts, one of the most prominent being: no Outsiders.

Even though the invasion happened long after the living shrine was snuffed, many tribesmen felt the Earth Tribe was somehow responsible for the initial burnout. Kaze had nothing to do with their bout of misfortune, but even after the pit had been drained and their shamans rekindled the sacred fire, she worried her husband would be blamed for what happened.

After Kaze and the escorts left the next day she and her father informed the rest of the tribe. He urged everyone to stay calm, and to sustain themselves using what had been preserved from the spring harvest until 'the ninja' returned with more.

As much as she hated the redistribution policy, Rinkah could admit that it could work in their favor this time. If her husband was right and the entire policy existed to ease famine everywhere, then surely, they had helped other villages in need with their bountiful harvests. It was time for the Flame Tribe to be helped in turn.

Kaze returned a week later in the middle of the bright-night. Rinkah nearly attacked him when he jolted her awake. "Don't scare me like that!"

"Please keep your voice down, dear."

"It's your fault for waking me," she grumbled. She scrubbed the sleep from her eyes. "How was your trip? How much did you bring?"

He crouched down at her side, and up-close she could see worry and lack of sleep engraved into his face. He didn't look up from the ground as he told her, "the king wasn't pleased with the quality of our export, and he became angrier still when the escorts told him we kept what was edible."

White-hot anger bloomed in her chest. "And what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Our import has been cancelled, and our request for more food was denied."

Throughout the fall months, her period gradually became lighter and lighter. Once winter came it stopped completely.

The previous village doctor had been a spindly old woman in her 80s, but the hunger took her halfway through fall; her own daughter and granddaughter had passed away years before, which left the tribe with her teenage great-granddaughter.

The girl roughly poked Rinkah's midsection. "Any chance you're pregnant?"

The Cursed Color flashed in her mind. Rinkah answered with a curt 'no'.

"In that case, it's probably the hunger. You're not the only one going through it. Once better times come, it'll come back like it never even left."

After the ruined summer harvest, every able-bodied person was called to the fields to make up what they had lost—but between the too-moist earth, the multitude of inexperienced hands, and their dwindling food supply, the autumn harvest wasn't much better. Worst still, under threat of retaliation the tribe was barred from keeping what was edible, and what was sent in return was barely consumable.

Winter was the hardest season even in the best of times, but now even children were being called to farm and fish. Rinkah was eager to join them, but Kaze insisted against it.

"Your father needs your help in running the tribe. Besides, I'm a ninja—I'm used to doing grunt work."

She swore he became more and more transparent every day. "You know I'm not pregnant, right?"

"Of course, I trust our doctor knows exactly what she's doing. Why, just the other day I saw her expertly bandage a festering wound using ivy leaves, and her patient only passed out twice."

"Oh, shut up."

"So, what, you've totally discarded the possibility based on the word of a novice?"

"One ritual isn't going to reverse five years of infertility."

Kaze crossed his arms. "I'll summon Orochi for a second, then."

"Don't bother. You think I'm going to bring a child into the world now? With the way things are, I'd probably give birth to a dead thing." She grabbed their plow from the corner of their main room, rolling it with her into the cold. "Don't wait up for me."