bloodlines of humanity about the Endgame to come. Millennia of tradition and servitude, all resting in the hands of these 12 old men and women. These are the 12 who have placed the burden of her people on Chiyoko’s shoulders, and among them now are those who would try to take that burden away.
They may refuse to face her, but they can’t stop her from facing them.
They may treat her like a child, but they’re fools if they think she’s going to act like one, letting decisions be made for her, letting conversations fly over her head that will decide her future.
Satoshi Nori is the de facto leader of the Mu—he is neither the wisest nor the boldest among them, but he has the most money, and that counts for plenty.
Chiyoko has been listening in on him for more than a year now. Which is how she knows his to be the loudest voice speaking up against her, arguing that a girl like her—a defective like her—should not be the Player, no matter what the signs may say.
Unlike her elders, she has never much cared what Satoshi thought. But maybe she should have. Because this afternoon she overheard her uncle agreeing to attend a meeting of the council, a meeting in which they would hear Satoshi out once and for all.
The Council of Twelve meets, as a rule, only once a year. An unscheduled meeting is agreed to only under grave consideration—if her uncle agreed to attend, he must have had good reason. He must have believed Satoshi would say something worth hearing.
Her uncle’s eyes are the only ones that have never lied to her. His faith in her is bone deep, and it is what sustains her through every doubting day. Or so she has always thought.
Maybe she is foolish after all.
Chiyoko clings tight to the wall, disappearing into the darkness. She closes her eyes against the wind, and listens.
“The girl is weak,” Satoshi says. “After so many generations, you would have us trust our people’s survival to this defective thing? This mute?”
It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.
“You would have us cast away a hundred generations of tradition, defy the word of the gods, all on your opinion?” Chiyoko’s uncle says. “Chiyoko’s voice may be weak, but her spirit is strong. She is our Player, whether you like it or not.”
This, too, is familiar territory. No one questioned Chiyoko’s annunciation as Player-to-be—not until she was five years old and it was clear she would never speak. For three millennia, the elders have anointed a Player in the womb, and that child has grown up to Play. Never has this tradition been violated. Never has the child proven unworthy. But three millennia is a long time. There are those who believe that maybe, finally, the elders have made a mistake. That maybe it’s time to dispense with tradition and apply common sense. Choose a Player who will be whole. The argument has raged behind Chiyoko’s back for a decade.
It is as if they think that because she cannot speak, she does not hear.
So tonight’s argument is familiar—but then it takes an unexpected turn.
“This cannot continue,” her uncle says. “This dissension, the lack of faith. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Satoshi says.
“You said you had a proposal?”
“I propose we offer our people a Player they deserve, one without defect or disability. Akina Nori.”
Chiyoko barely knows the girl. The Mu rarely socialize with one another, finding it safer to assimilate into Naha society and keep their bond hidden from prying eyes. On those rare occasions when their children came together, Chiyoko was always ignored. She played silently by herself, while the others chattered together. But she knows enough about Akina Nori: The girl is beautiful, athletic, wealthy. She is also Satoshi Nori’s daughter.
“Imagine my surprise,” her uncle says, and Chiyoko can hear the wry smile in his voice.
“She’s a good candidate,” Satoshi says. “Top of her class, and the most accomplished
They may refuse to face her, but they can’t stop her from facing them.
They may treat her like a child, but they’re fools if they think she’s going to act like one, letting decisions be made for her, letting conversations fly over her head that will decide her future.
Satoshi Nori is the de facto leader of the Mu—he is neither the wisest nor the boldest among them, but he has the most money, and that counts for plenty.
Chiyoko has been listening in on him for more than a year now. Which is how she knows his to be the loudest voice speaking up against her, arguing that a girl like her—a defective like her—should not be the Player, no matter what the signs may say.
Unlike her elders, she has never much cared what Satoshi thought. But maybe she should have. Because this afternoon she overheard her uncle agreeing to attend a meeting of the council, a meeting in which they would hear Satoshi out once and for all.
The Council of Twelve meets, as a rule, only once a year. An unscheduled meeting is agreed to only under grave consideration—if her uncle agreed to attend, he must have had good reason. He must have believed Satoshi would say something worth hearing.
Her uncle’s eyes are the only ones that have never lied to her. His faith in her is bone deep, and it is what sustains her through every doubting day. Or so she has always thought.
Maybe she is foolish after all.
Chiyoko clings tight to the wall, disappearing into the darkness. She closes her eyes against the wind, and listens.
“The girl is weak,” Satoshi says. “After so many generations, you would have us trust our people’s survival to this defective thing? This mute?”
It’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.
“You would have us cast away a hundred generations of tradition, defy the word of the gods, all on your opinion?” Chiyoko’s uncle says. “Chiyoko’s voice may be weak, but her spirit is strong. She is our Player, whether you like it or not.”
This, too, is familiar territory. No one questioned Chiyoko’s annunciation as Player-to-be—not until she was five years old and it was clear she would never speak. For three millennia, the elders have anointed a Player in the womb, and that child has grown up to Play. Never has this tradition been violated. Never has the child proven unworthy. But three millennia is a long time. There are those who believe that maybe, finally, the elders have made a mistake. That maybe it’s time to dispense with tradition and apply common sense. Choose a Player who will be whole. The argument has raged behind Chiyoko’s back for a decade.
It is as if they think that because she cannot speak, she does not hear.
So tonight’s argument is familiar—but then it takes an unexpected turn.
“This cannot continue,” her uncle says. “This dissension, the lack of faith. It’s too dangerous.”
“Then we are in agreement,” Satoshi says.
“You said you had a proposal?”
“I propose we offer our people a Player they deserve, one without defect or disability. Akina Nori.”
Chiyoko barely knows the girl. The Mu rarely socialize with one another, finding it safer to assimilate into Naha society and keep their bond hidden from prying eyes. On those rare occasions when their children came together, Chiyoko was always ignored. She played silently by herself, while the others chattered together. But she knows enough about Akina Nori: The girl is beautiful, athletic, wealthy. She is also Satoshi Nori’s daughter.
“Imagine my surprise,” her uncle says, and Chiyoko can hear the wry smile in his voice.
“She’s a good candidate,” Satoshi says. “Top of her class, and the most accomplished
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