Chapter 7: Seconds

Three weeks later, the village came up the mountain with the harvest.

For the first time in two hundred years, they did not run away.

It was Riko's idea.

Every year, Teruko told her, the villagers climbed to the black gates with the first rice and the first sake.

They set it on the steps, bowed to the ground, and fled down the road before the lord could come out.

"Why do they run?" said Riko.

"They're afraid of him," Teruko said.

"He's the quietest man I've ever met."

"He's a dragon. He doesn't need to be loud."

"Then let's feed them," Riko said.

She spent two days grilling.

She cut the village's hens into small pieces and threaded them onto bamboo.

She brushed each skewer with a sauce of bean paste and rice wine, and a few precious drops of the shop's tare.

Daigo and the villagers' boys built braziers in the courtyard out of black stone.

By sunset, a hundred and fifty people were standing at the gate, shuffling, with their hats in their hands.

The smell of grilling meat drifted over their heads.

Nobody went in.

Then Teruko stumped through the gate on her bad knees, snapped, "Come on, you cowards," and marched to the nearest brazier.

After that, they all came.

Riko stood at the center brazier with her sleeves rolled up, turning skewers by the dozen.

It was the best she had felt in years.

Children crowded the fire and burned their tongues.

Farmers' wives argued over salt.

A very old man sat down on the ground and wept at the smell.

At the head of the long table in the middle of the courtyard sat Kagiro.

He had come out in his plainest robe, and he sat very straight.

Every villager passing him bowed so low that their hats nearly touched the ground.

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