IV

Her eyebrows are green. How curious.

But it seemed like so much about Midori was, from her conception to her too-easy birth to her surviving six months—and now, her eyebrows. The girl sucked at her empty breasts desperately, face swelling pink. She let go and exhaled a cry furious enough to rattle Rinkah's bones.

Kaze set down a bowl of boiled larvae as he pulled Midori away. He hummed a tune Rinkah didn't recognize, and rubbed her back in time with it. When Rinkah's milk dried up, there was little else they could do to ease her sobbing fits.

"Father wants to hold the six-month ceremony in his quarters."

"Does he." Kaze didn't sound particularly enthused, and Rinkah didn't blame him. It wasn't as if he'd be allowed to attend.

"Yes. He's excited to host one again after so many years."

Nineteen years, to be exact. The last he held was for the firstborn of her eldest sister. Rinkah had only been six at the time, but she still remembered it vividly: presenting the child to their ancestors, passing him over fire, dedicating him to the God of Flame. She even remembered how happy she'd been to join her parents and siblings in their chant to bless the new baby with luck and longevity. No ritual was perfect, and plenty of children died before making it to the next milestone of five years, but it was a cruel irony that her nephew and everyone else died just three weeks later.

Midori's sobbing calmed. He laid her down in the crook of his elbow, rocking her as she drifted to sleep. "Did you check the forest again?" she asked him.

"Yes."

"And? Did you find any more bark?"

"No."

"All gone?"

"Yes."

Rinkah shoved a fistful of maggots into her mouth. She hated eating them, hated that they'd run out of spices to disguise the taste, hated that she no longer cared. "That's unfortunate."

"Mmhm." He stared hard out the window with an unreadable expression.

"You know, it would be great if you answered using more than one syllable." She set her bowl down on the table, hard. "You've been acting strange since last week. Hard. Unreachable. What gives?"

"Nothing."

"Are you sure? What," she smiled wryly, "has tribal living finally gotten to you? Not as glamourous as everyone said it'd be?"

He didn't answer, and Rinkah hoped to all the gods what she said came out as a joke. She could do without Kaze knowing about the one fear she had since the moment they met: that who she was and where she came from wouldn't be enough to keep him.

He wasn't one of them, and never could be. There were things only people from the tribe could understand. He wasn't born under the blazing eye of the Flame God. He wasn't reared packed tight in a one room home, didn't sleep sandwiched between his six siblings while his parents pillow-talked a few feet away. He didn't receive his first club for his 5th birthday. He wasn't expected survive a week on his own in the wilderness at age 12, nor did he get his facial marks as tribute to the milestone. Their fierceness, their pride, their fire: none of it was present in him. What was this lovebird doing among crows? "Kaze, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Why in all the hells are you and the girl still here?"

He cradled the back of Midori's head. "Why would you ask me that?"

"Just answer the question."

"Because this is our home." He spoke as if the question itself confused him, like the answer was obvious for anyone to see.

"But you're both starving because of where you live," she replied levelly. "You can't tell me you haven't thought about leaving."

"'Leaving'?" His voice was hard, raspy. "And where would we land? Igasato?"

"Actually, yes. That's your hometown, I'm sure they'd welcome—"

"Well, they wouldn't. Get the idea out of your head."

Rinkah might have believed that if Saizo the Fourth were still living, but number five was now head of the village, and he had the final say. "Did you and Saizo have a falling out?" She narrowed her eyes. "I see. You stay because you have nowhere else to go!"

Midori jumped up, startled. Rinkah expected her to start crying since it seemed it was it was all she ever did while awake; but instead she continued to coo, wiggling in her father's light grasp.

"No, that's not it." His expression and voice dripped with resignation as he stared down at Midori's face, absent of any of the anger she'd been expecting. "This is my home and I would never abandon you, but I know living this way is unfair to our child. Last month, I hardened my heart and sent a letter to Orochi, asking about sending Midori to Igasato. I wouldn't have actually done it without talking to you first," he quickly added, "but I wanted the door to be open in case we had to get her there quickly."

Rinkah nodded slowly. As future head of the tribe it would be best if Midori stayed home, but an offbeat chief with foreign mannerisms was better than none at all. "I understand."

"I knew you would." He smiled sadly. "I went through all the formalities, even offered to reimburse them for Midori's expenses, but… gods, Orochi always wanted a daughter. And Midori is Saizo's niece. I never considered they might say no."
Rinkah laughed humorlessly. "But they obviously did. Did they at least honor us with a reason?"

Kaze rose and took Midori over to her bassinet, one of the many that had been passed down in her family. He set her down there, and looked down at her for what felt like a long while. When he finally continued, his voice was empty of emotion. "When my brother came to speak with your father, he was apparently so disturbed by our living conditions that he refused to hold the meeting until your father explained what was going on. As expected, Saizo refused to believe King Ryoma was at fault, the two got into a shouting match, and you know the rest: my brother was tossed out."

"So he's taking the slight out on Midori?"

Kaze shook his head. "Saizo isn't that petty. Still, he had no desire to look into it any further, perhaps fearing what he might find. But his wife, on the other hand… she leaves no stone unturned. Orochi investigated the matter on her own, and concluded that your father was telling the truth. So of course, she petitioned King Ryoma on our behalf. She pleaded for our children and the elderly, for those who died from the hunger, for the fate of the newly born. She reminded him that the Flame Tribe has never rebelled against the crown. She even evoked our shared childhood, how I now walk among you. And do you know," Kaze's locked eyes with hers, "what King Ryoma said, dear?"

Rinkah shook with anticipation. "What did the bastard say?"

"He said that starving the 'bipedal dogs of the Flame Tribe' was his prerogative. That this was his way of scrubbing us off the map and burning us from the pages of history. That I had condemned myself to the mass grave he was digging, and Midori—" Kaze ran his hand through his matted hair, voice choked. "He said Midori would make an interesting test subject!"

She shot up out of her chair. "I'll kill him!"

Midori began to cry, wafting between sobbing and screeching. Rinkah flexed her fingers, itching for her flame club. She wanted to bash King Ryoma's face in. She wanted to set Shirasagi ablaze. She wanted to rip the wings off the Dawn Dragon personally.

"And I wouldn't stop you. I don't think any decent person would." Kaze picked Midori up, bouncing her. "But you can't. King Ryoma is the Dawn Dragon's right hand, and we—"

"We have the God of Flame, who far outclasses that overgrown sparrow!"

"Please don't make me regret telling you."

"Then what," she growled through clenched teeth, "do you suggest I do?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "They can't take Midori because Saizo's too close to the crown for her to be safe. We have no other allies. We—"

"Enough." She brought her hands to her eyes, and slowly dragged them town to her mouth. "Enough. I get it. We're on our own."

That bright-night, while Kaze and Midori slept, Rinkah laid awake staring hard at the ceiling.

She could kick herself for not having seen it before. The policy wasn't poorly designed, it was perfectly designed. Implement redistribution. Wait for a bad harvest. Trap the undesirables in a cycle of sacrificing all their food to the empire. Watch as every last one of them eventually drops dead under the sun.

At least the Earth Tribe had been forthright with their objective.

There was pounding on the door, jolting the three of them awake. Rinkah left Kaze to starve off another crying fit while she stormed to their front door, ready to clobber whoever was on the other side. She swallowed her anger when she saw it was one of their shamans, figuring the God of Flame would not appreciate her assaulting one of his holy men. Rinkah forced a smile. "Yes?"

"You're needed at the riverbank."

"What for?" Behind her, Midori dissolved into tears. Rinkah couldn't keep the sneer off her face.

The old man swayed in the mid-autumn breeze. The landscape beyond him was a pallet of blues and greys, absent of the splashes of color so associated with the season. Desperation had been high since the summer export, and some had taken to ripping the leaves off of trees to feed their hungry families. Rinkah and Kaze hadn't been driven to that point—they only had one child—but she would be lying if she said she hadn't been tempted. The shaman held her gaze. "The army is here."

The air around her suddenly felt very thick. "I'm sorry?"

"The Hoshidan army. They're here. They're is blocking access to the river."

As she approached, Rinkah saw the soldiers surrounding the river single-file. There appeared to be tribe members trying to reason with them, but the soldiers were wholly unmoved by their desperation, staring ahead as if they as if they weren't even there. One mother collapsed in a cloudy heap, sobbing into her hands while her emaciated children looked on with soulless eyes.

Rinkah marched up to one of the soldiers. She was short even by Flame Tribe standards, but she still puffed out her chest and said in her most authoritative tone, "why are you here? Who sent you?!"

No response. Rinkah balled up her hands, and it took every inch of willpower she had not to bust him in the teeth. "As daughter of the Flame Tribe Chief, I have a right to know!"

She was demanding answers, but she was sill surprised when his eyes flickered down to meet hers. "The Hoshidan ambassador will be meeting with the Flame Chief shortly. That is all we are authorized to say to you."

As she approached her father's quarters, she could see two Hoshidan officials standing guard by the doors. They crossed their naginatas over the doors when they saw her approach.

"Move! I'm the chief's daughter. I have every right to attend this meeting!"

Unlike the soldier stationed at the river, the officials didn't budge. And so, Rinkah did what any Flame Tribesman would do, and found another way. She ducked down beneath the naginatas and shoved the door open.

She made it two steps before one of the officials caught her by the back of her tunic. "A-apologies, Lady Hinoka!" the other stammered. "We'll make sure this ruffian is duly punished."

Her father shot up from his seat. "Unhand my daughter!"

Both men looked to Lady Hinoka. "She can stay if she likes," she said with a wave of the hand. The official shoved her free, and Rinkah fell hard on the ground. They promptly returned to their stations outside.

Her father rushed to her to help her stand. Lady Hinoka took a sip of the tea that had been offered to her. Her face twisted in displeasure, and she set the cup down with more force than necessary. "I understand what it's like," she continued. "I was prevented from sitting in on meetings when my father was alive. I wouldn't dream of passing that disrespect along."

Rinkah could throttle her. How dare she try to commiserate like they were old friends? "That's rich coming from the likes of you."

"Rinkah, mind yourself," her father warned. "She's an envoy of the Dawn Dragon."

She sure doesn't look the part. Lady Hinoka sat before them in the garb of a sky knight, her disheveled hair and wind-beaten face standing in contrast to the pristine ideal the royal family was expected to present. If Rinkah had met her in any other context, she wouldn't have thought of her as any different from the infantrymen blocking the river.

"It's fine. I know your people value directness, so let's get down to business." Lady Hinoka didn't wait for the two of them to take their seats before continuing. "It's come to our attention that the people of your tribe have been fishing in one of our rivers. Is this true?"

Her father nodded slowly. "Yes, but we've been using that river for generations—"

"That's all well and good, but according to our scientists, the river's ecosystem had been thrown into chaos due to overuse. There are apparently very few fish left. You can agree with this, can't you?"

They couldn't disagree. Everyone knew the fish were getting harder to catch.

"So you see," Lady Hinoka continued, "it's in both Hoshido and the Flame Tribe's best interest to block off the river until it's ecology can be restored. This can take quite a while, unfortunately. We hope you understand."

Rinkah felt a familiar heat rise up in her chest. The royal family had everything, and still they wanted more? "Why don't you ask your precious brother why we have to fish so often? It's because of his brilliant direction that we've gotten to this point!"

"Rinkah—"

"No, we need answers! This policy is supposed to alleviate famine everywhere, is it not? Then why is it when we have a bad harvest, we're forced to give up what's edible? Why are our imports rotted by the time they get here? Why are we being forced to eat leaves and tree bark, Lady Hinoka?! And now, now you have the audacity to come here and cut us off from the last respectable food source we have? What is it that you're trying to do here?!"

Say it, you goddamn bitch. Admit you're trying to wipe us out. Give me an excuse.

"Give us your young men, and I'll reopen the river."

"Excuse me?!"

Lady Hinoka repeated herself slowly, enunciating her words. "Give us your young men, and I'll reopen—"

Her father chopped his hand through the air. "We heard you, insolent child! What do you mean, 'give you'?"

"Exactly as I said." Lady Hinoka held herself square-shouldered and firm. "Ages 16 through 25. Round them up to be collected by the end of the week."

"For what?"

"Well, that," she smiled, "isn't any of your business. If you want access to that river, you'll do as I ask. You people may have been using it for 'generations', but it has always been outside your territory. You have no more right to it than you do anything else past this valley." She sat back in her seat. "I'll allow you until this time tomorrow to decide. I suggest you consider your choices carefully."