The Wings of Dreams

no breath of wind, no sign of an alighting bird on the towering red and green edifice. The last lingering echoes of Tenhaku’s roar and the rustling crowd faded away, leaving behind a grave stillness.
    A human figure appeared on the impassable gate. Only a small shadow at first. It stood on the monolithic slab, then stepped casually into thin air. The shadow descended as if sinking through clear water. When it passed the midway point, the figure became recognizable as an old man.
    There was nothing the slightest bit unusual about him. All eyes followed his descent as he landed on the ground at the foot of the red gate. This was Tenhaku in his transformed state, or so everybody said. The black steel shackles around his hands and feet said as much too.
    Standing in front of the gate, he bowed to no one in particular, turned on his heels and placed his hands on the huge doors. The doors were forty times his height and two hundred yards wide. The weight was unimaginable. And yet they eased open with no obvious resistance.
    A warm wind blew in, whipping up the hems of clothes and disheveling before it raced down the canyon. These were the winds of the Yellow Sea, that the people of Ken feared more than anything.
    The old man’s hands spread apart. The doors parted to reveal another crowd of people with a line of troops at the fore, a mirror image of the crowd on the other side, all holding their breath.
    The old man walked forward, from inside the gate to the outside, the doors appearing to yield to the force of his hands as his arms reached out, until they gaped wide open.
    The old man stopped. This time he faced the gate, bowed again, and disappeared into thin air. At the same time, a great shout of joy rang out.
    The shout shook the canyon walls. The wind blew and howled. The soldiers poised at the gate broke into a run.
    The cavalry outside the gate urged their mounts forward. Bows and spears in hand, they stormed down the canyon. Beyond the human tide, the stone formations of the barrier walls blocked the canyon like a dam.
    At the same time, the soldiers inside the gate rushed past them, greetings and expressions of warm regard flashing back and forth. Since the Spring Equinox of the previous year, they had held down the fortress that sheltered those traveling from and back to Ken.
    Departing after a one-year tour of duty, with a great cry of relief, they shot through the gate and, wielding their weapons, climbed the ledges to the sentry posts. From there they covered the retreat of the rear guard.
    Kijuu skimmed past them. Taking the lead in their straightaway plunge into the Yellow Sea were the corpse hunters. They had until the following day at noon to scout the Yellow Sea and return. Their more stalwart companions followed at a more leisurely pace, planning on staying there until the Summer Solstice.
    Then there were those who’d entered at the Winter Solstice and had made it safely to the spring.
    Those going on the Shouzan and unaccustomed to life in the Yellow Sea watched in wonder as the scene unfolded before them. Confused by all the clamor, they mounted their rides and galloped through the gate, mingling with the thronging masses. Those on foot came to their senses and raced after them.
    “Wow!” said Shushou, her own exclamations washed away by the tremendous tumult. She just barely heard Gankyuu’s response.
    “This is the Day of Ankou, ” he said with a smile. His soul was steeped in the terrors of the Yellow Sea and yet he always found himself looking forward to this ritualistic Day of Ankou and the moment when one of the four gates opened.
    “It really is an incredible sight.”
    “This is your last chance. Turn back now and you’ll reach the Earth Gate before it closes.
    Shushou glanced over her shoulder at him. Her voice rose crisply above the noise. “No.”
    “You’re really set on going?”
    “I am going. Kyou needs an Empress.”
    “In other words, you.”
    “Isn’t it obvious?”
    Gankyuu looked into those unyielding eyes and sighed. He took up the reins, climbed into the saddle, and reached a hand down to her. “Up you go.”

Chapter 12
    [2-4]  T he haku set off on foot towards the fort.
    Supplies had been ferried in every Spring Equinox for years upon years in order to build the fort, the first and last rest stop in the Yellow Sea. It was a short flight by air, but less-friendly winged creatures were already visible in the sky over the steep canyon walls.
    These were