The Twelve Kingdoms: A Thousand Leagues of Wind

inflicted all manners of hardships on his people, but at least for three hundred years they had been governed peacefully and wisely. Kaitatsu reflected that longing for the enlightened rule of a long-lived king. This was the reason for the furtive sigh.
    Enough of empresses. It'd be nice to have a king again.
    This sentiment was voiced surreptitiously so that others would not hear, but those expressing it were not few in number and the sum of their reactions amounted to a rather public expression of dismay.
    Nonetheless, that day the Imperial Standard was raised over the Rishi of Kei. In the Eastern Kingdom of Kei, a new monarch acceded to the throne.
    The Era of the Royal Kei Youko, the Dynasty of Sekishi (the Red Child), had begun.

Part I
    here is a mountain in the center of the world called Mount Hou. A goddess by the name of Gyokuyou governs that holy place. Because of the respect and affection held for Gyokuyou, many girls are named after her.
    In the northwest quadrant of the world, at the eastern reaches of the Kingdom of Hou, in the province of Kei and the shire of Han, there was a girl named Gyokuyou.
    "Gyokuyou!"
    The cry carried far on the autumn breeze. The girl lifted her head from amidst the field of dry grass. She grimaced as she straightened her aching back, and she grimaced because she didn't much like the sound of the name.
    She'd once had a beautiful name, Shoukei. Not some worn out, dime-a-dozen name like Gyokuyou.
    Almost three years ago, stained with the blood of her mother and father, she was removed from the Imperial Palace and sent to the village of Shindou. Her once pearl-like skin was browned and freckled by the sun. Her chubby, peach-like cheeks had wasted away. The bones stood out in her fingers as did the sinews in her legs. The sun had bleached her dark blue hair an ashen gray. Even her violet eyes had lost their brilliance, turning a muddy purple.
    "Gyokuyou! Where are you! Answer me!"
    Hearing the shrill voice, Shoukei stood up. "I'm over here." She parted the stalks of maiden grass with her hands, showing herself.
    She knew who that irritating voice belonged to in the moment she saw her face. It was Gobo.
    "How long are you going to take harvesting the maiden grass? The other children are already headed back."
    "I'm finishing up just now."
    Gobo pushed her way through the tall grass. She took a look at the bundles of stalks that Shoukei had gathered and snorted. "Six bales, indeed. Pretty meager ones at that."
    "But . . . . "
    Gobo jumped down her throat as soon as the first word came out of her mouth. "No back talk from you. Who do you think you are?" She lowered her voice. "This isn't the palace, you know. You're just an orphan and don't you forget it."
    As always, Shoukei bit her lip. No, she couldn't forget it for an instant. Gobo wouldn't let a day go by without casting an aspersion or two or three. She couldn't forget if she wanted to.
    "How about you give it an honest effort for once? I don't think I need to remind you that if I let the cat out of the bag, the people of this village would have your head on a platter."
    Shoukei held her tongue. Any reply would be met at once with the retort of that grating voice. "Okay," she said meekly.
    "What's that?"
    "Thank you for all you've done for me."
    A sneer came to Gobo's lips. "Another six bales. Work till dinnertime if you have to. And if you're late, you go hungry."
    "Yes."
    The autumn sun was already low in the sky. Of course it would be impossible to gather six more bales of maiden grass before suppertime.
    Gobo sniffed to herself and left, plowing back through the grass. Glancing briefly at Gobo's back, Shoukei grasped the handle of the sickle at her feet. Her hands were liberally nicked and scratched by the maiden grass, her fingers caked with mud. Shoukei had been brought to Kei Province and placed on the books of this remote mountain village. The story was that her parents had died and she had been sent to local rike, a kind of foster home for orphans and the aged from several of the surrounding towns. Gobo was the headmistress of the facility.
    Besides Gobo, there were nine children and one old man. At first, Gobo and the others had been nice to her. But children got to talking about how their parents died. Much bitterness was directed against the dead king. Shoukei could not join in, could only hang her head and hold her tongue. When she was asked about her parents, she could not think of a good way to answer.
    Moreover,