The Twelve Kingdoms: A Thousand Leagues of Wind

surrounding countryside, making it hard to tell where the road ended and the fields began. The fields were surrounded by rock walls to keep grazing goats, sheep and cows from straying, but these too were buried beneath the snow. Though it was yet before the winter solstice, the snowfall this year had been unusually heavy.
    Her shoulders ached from the weight of the tow rope. Her toes were frozen. The hundred pounds of charcoal loaded onto the sled made the going slow. She could have just as well been hauling a grown man.
    How long do I go on living like this?
    Numb and exhausted, that was the only thought going through her mind. Several times already she had run off the road and fallen into a drift. Each time she had to carry up the sled and load the charcoal back on. If she didn't make better time the gates were going to close. That was what kept her shivering, trembling legs moving forward. She dragged the sled along, ignoring the pain that cut like a knife into her throat and sides.
    They're all enjoying themselves right now.
    The only people that traveled from city to city during the winter were peddlers and the Red Banner troubadours. The Red Banner troubadours chronicled the history of the kingdoms in verse and song. They had come to her town. There was hardly anything fun to do during the winter, so when the Red Banner troubadours showed up it was cause for celebration. Despite this, Shoukei alone was sent out to buy charcoal.
    Charcoal was indispensable during the winter, so of course it was kept in good supply. Still, she was told that there might not be enough to last till spring and was sent out to get more. She wasn't even provided with a horse.
    She hates me that much.
    Shoukei cursed Gobo in her heart. Sending her by herself to a neighboring town to haul back a hundred pounds of charcoal on a sled, Gobo knew for damn sure that one slipup and Shoukei would be dead. And one way or another, she made sure Shoukei understand that she didn't care, either.
    How much long do I put up with this?
    When she turned twenty, she would get her own partition and could leave the orphanage. The reckoning of those "twenty years" was according to customs followed since time immemorial, but according to Shoukei's age on the census, she had two more years to go.
    Two more years of this life.
    And even in two years, there was no guarantee that she would get her plot of land. Gekkei, the man who had murdered her father, he wasn't likely to so readily set her free.
    She resisted the urge to stop and rest, and instead pushed herself on. At last, she struggled up to the gates just before they closed for the night. Inside the town, there remained something of the lively atmosphere. She staggered back to the orphanage and sat down in the snow. She could hear the excited voices of the children inside.
    Two more years.
    Those two years stretched out like an eternity. The thirty years she had spent at the Imperial Palace seemed short in comparison. She grimmaced and got to her feet, unloaded the straw sacks of charcoal and stored them in the barn. And then went into the orphanage.
    She opened the back door and stepped into the kitchen. "I'm back."
    Gobo flashed her a taunting smile. "You've returned with the charcoal, then? If there's even an ounce missing, you'll have to do it all over again."
    "It's all there, all one hundred pounds."
    Gobo sniffed incredulously and held out her hand. Shoukei deposited the frozen purse in her palm. Gobo checked the contents and gave Shoukei an icy glare. "There's not much change here, is there?"
    "Charcoal is expensive. It's pretty scarce this year."
    A summer typhoon had blown down the trees on the nearby mountains, leading to the high cost of charcoal.
    "So you say," Gobo muttered to herself. She turned to Shoukei with a cold smile. "If you're lying to me, I'll know soon enough. Until then, we'll have to take your word for it."
    Shoukei hung her head. Like I would stoop to stealing chicken feed like this, she told herself derisively.
    "Well, you'd better get started on your evening chores."
    Shoukei only nodded. She didn't have the right to talk back to anybody in authority, so no matter how tired she was, she knew it wouldn't do any good to complain.

    Shoukei went to the barn with the other children to feed the animals, muck out the stables, and milk the cow and goat.
    Even while doing their chores, the children chattered cheerfully. "Too bad you couldn't get back earlier," a girl said to