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Jin sat, leaning against a stone wall, watching the people celebrate their victory over the Mongols for a second time.
“Drinking alone?”
Jin looked up through bleary, sake soaked eyes, to see Yuna, carrying even more sake and food. He grinned at her, then pointed to the crowd where samurai were drinking and celebrating with everyone else. Yuna sighed. Whilst the average samurai probably wouldn’t recognise Jin without his sword, armour, or mask, he didn’t want to risk it. Besides, he had drunk a lot of sake. Fighting might also be a problem.
“Do you think it’s really over this time?” asked Yuna, sitting beside him.
Jin was silent for some time before answering, “I think so. People speak of the Mongols as demons, or a curse upon Tsushima, but they’re not. And they’ve lost twice now. Lost on Iki, lost here, and lost on the mainland. It’s hard to remember sometimes, but they are people and their losses must be substantial.”
“I think everyone struggles to remember that. That’s why we’re all trying to drink ourselves into oblivion.” Yuna passed Jin another bottle of sake and raised her own, “To oblivion?”
“To oblivion,” said Jin and drank.
They sat for some time, comfortably silent in each other’s company, sharing the food and drink, until Jin said, “Do … do you think I should leave Tsushima?”
“What? How much have you had to drink?”
Jin shook his head. It was difficult to get his thoughts together, but he had only been able to voice the idea when bolstered by sake.
“I’ve been thinking about it for some time. Everything I’ve done, that the Ghost has done, has shown the samurai’s weaknesses. The Shogun has only grown angrier with me. Everywhere I go, I put people in danger.”
Yuna snorted, “Of course, it’s not about protecting yourself, it’s about protecting everyone else.”
“I … sorry?”
Yuna shook her head, “You just can’t help being you,” she said fondly. “So what are you asking?”
“I sacrificed everything for Tsushima, Tsushima is my home, and even if Clan Sakai is dissolved I…” Jin trailed off. Yuna had never felt the deep connection to Tsushima that he had, and she had always rolled her eyes at his talks of duty. But more so he wasn’t sure what he was asking. He wanted Yuna to convince him to stay and he wanted her to make him feel better about leaving.
“You know that your friends would accept the danger of protecting you,” Yuna said gently. Sometimes Jin needed to hear that he wasn’t alone. “You don’t always have to be the one doing the protecting.”
“I know. But that’s not the only danger. And the last thing I would want is to cause another conflict,” Jin said. As much as he had tried to discourage the ‘Ghost’s Army’ his actions had gained him considerable support among samurai and peasant alike. Whilst many fell in line with the Shogun’s law, the more the Shogun pushed for his capture and death, the more his supporters defended him.
Jin couldn’t help but admit the support warmed his heart, even if he was afraid of the consequences for Tsushima should he ever be captured or killed.
“It wouldn’t be you causing that conflict,” Yuna snapped, “that’s your uncle speaking. The Jito caused this with his idiocy.”
Jin flinched. It was easier if he didn’t think of the fact that it was his uncle ever more mercilessly hunting him down on the Shogun’s orders. It was easier if he thought of the samurai as the Shogun’s men, even if his mind took a note of which clan they belonged to and which clan that had been before Komoda Beach. They were all the Shogun’s men.
“I know,” he said, “I do know that.”
“Good,” said Yuna gently. “So?”
“It makes for a good story if I leave,” he said nonchalantly. “The Ghost, the vengeful spirit raised from the dead to rain death upon the Mongols, is put to rest after his work is done, and is never seen again.”
“You always hated the stories.”
“And you came up with half of them.”
They chuckled and Yuna said, “So you’re leaving just to complete the story?” she said lightly.
Jin looked at Yuna. They had never really quantified what they were to each other. There had been nights when they had sought each other for warmth and comfort, though no words had been spoken. Somehow, it had never been the time. Jin wasn’t sure he could put what Yuna meant to him into words. They had gone through so much together, done so much together and lost so much. They had both transformed into something new over the course of the war and it had forged a deep bond.
Yet, they had never spoken about it out loud.
“I just want peace. I don’t know if I’ll ever find that. But maybe I can find a place where I can sleep in the same bed for more than a few nights at a time. Where I can make friends without wondering if they’ll betray me. But,” he took a breath, “I’d only be able to leave if you came with me.”
Yuna froze. The noise of the festival, the laughter, the songs, the clinking of sake bottles, faded until all she could hear was the wind.
“You want me to come with you?” she said at last, her tone caught between disbelief and curiosity. That Jin asked her to come with him wasn’t a surprise, they had stuck together, more or less, since they had first met. But the faint pleading note within his voice, the need, did surprise her.
Jin nodded. His eyes, dim but steady in the firelight, met hers. “I remember when you wanted nothing more than to leave Tsushima,” he said softly. “Start fresh. Away from war.”
Yuna looked down at her cup, swirling what little sake was left. “That was before,” she murmured. “Before I met a man who made me care what happened here.”
Jin barked a laugh, “Oh, my own devious plan turned against me. Whatever shall I do?”
“When I wanted to leave, I said home was wherever Taka was,” said Yuna softly, almost too softly to be heard.
Jin froze. Taka’s grave was in Tsushima and they were only ones who tended it, who lit incense and said prayers. Of course he couldn’t ask her to leave.
Yuna touched his cheek, thumb drifting over the old scar, “But that’s changed. Now home is a certain idiot samurai. Of course I’ll come with you.”
Jin grinned. He felt incomparably lighter. The terrible decision had been made and Yuna would come with him, “You shall have to tell me who this samurai is, so I can duel him for your honour,” he said faux seriously, and placed a soft kiss on the inside of Yuna’s wrist.
Yuna shivered at the touch and grinned back, “Well I have to tell you, he’s nephew to the Jito. He’s very important.”
Jin leaned in close, so she could feel his breath on her ear, “He may be important,” he murmured, his hand wandering to her leg, “but can he-”
Yuna shoved him lightly on the chest, “I think you might have drunk a bit too much to perform this evening, my lord.”
“How dare you,” Jin said in his most imperious tone, waving his sake bottle around theatrically. He lost his grip on the bottle and watched it roll down the hill. “Ah.”
They both burst into giggles, the ridiculousness of their momentary playacting, the celebration of the end of the war and the relief of the decision made briefly overcame them. The laughter faded into small chuckles, then sighs, and finally into a quiet that felt different from before — softer, safer.
“So,” said Yuna finally, “where would we go, if we did leave?”
“I don’t know,” Jin admitted. “Somewhere far from the Shogun’s reach. Somewhere no one knows my name. Somewhere quiet.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Yuna sarcastically.
“It’s a hard topic to research. But now I’ve got help,” he said, raising his eyebrows at her. Yuna rolled her eyes. Jin didn’t admit that part of him had been relying on the wind to guide him, as it had for so long.
“Quiet sounds strange,” Yuna murmured. “Do you think we could get used to it?”
“I’d like to try.”
“Yes,” said Yuna with a wry grin, “I can see it now. Jin Sakai, the quiet fisherman, who doesn’t get involved in anyone’s problems.”
“I … you never know.”
“You’d hear one sob story and then you’d be back to fighting bandits and helping old ladies fetch rice.”
Jin sighed. He did have a tendency, “I’ll let you do the talking then.”
Yuna smirked. “Oh, that’ll go well. ‘Hello, I’m Yuna, and this is my very quiet husband who definitely isn’t the Ghost of Tsushima.’ I’m sure no one will ask questions.”
“Husband?”
“Well … I. It makes sense. If we’re living together,” said Yuna very casually.
Jin blinked. The warmth of the sake seemed to vanish in an instant, replaced by a flutter in his chest. “I see,” he said carefully, though his voice betrayed the faintest tremor. “A very practical arrangement, of course.”
Yuna raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Of course. Purely practical.”
“And in this ‘practical arrangement’ would we go through the trouble of having a ceremony? Or just show up and announce ourselves as husband and wife. Practically speaking I think having a ceremony would contribute to the – uh – veracity of the thing.”
“Jin Sakai, are you asking me to marry you?” Yuna asked with a teasing grin.
You started it, Jin wanted to protest, but he said, “Well, I think I can remember all my lessons on how to properly court. You’d find it all horribly tedious though. So we might as well skip it and go straight to the ceremony.”
A wistful expression briefly stole over Yuna’s face and it sent a pang of longing through Jin. He wished he could court her properly. He wished he could walk through Omi’s gardens with her and dress her in the finest silk. He wished he could show her all the beautiful, indulgent things she deserved to enjoy and spend long, lazy afternoons writing ridiculous poetry for her to roll her eyes at. But he couldn’t. She deserved to be treated like the finest samurai lady in Tsushima and instead they were sleeping in a leaky hut, planning their escape.
“Stop it,” said Yuna gently, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. She took a shaky breath, “I’ll visit Taka’s grave tomorrow. Let him know we’re leaving and that I’m marrying my ridiculous samurai.” Jin nodded. He wanted to offer to accompany her, but he knew she had to make that particular trip alone. “After that, I know where we can find some of your pirate friends.”
“Well, just as long as they don’t take the opportunity to throw me overboard,” said Jin. He had worked with the raiders of Iki a few times since he had helped rid the island of the Eagle Tribe, but there was still a lot of pain of both sides. Whether Clan Sakai still existed or not, to the raiders he would always be a Sakai. The son of The Butcher. And for Jin, Iki would always be the place his Father had been murdered. He might have forgiven Tenzo, but that act still stood between them.
“I can talk to them,” said Yuna. “And there are those who remember what you did for them”
Jin shivered. He didn’t like to remember his time on Iki. Everything was buried under the haze of The Eagle’s poison and the ghosts of his failures that had haunted him on that island. He wrapped his arms around Yuna, “Talk to them then,” he said. “But I’m blaming you if I get thrown in the sea.”
“I might throw you in the sea if you brood the whole journey.”
That shocked a laugh out of Jin, “Very well. I will concentrate on being your happy, carefree, peaceful, fisherman husband.”
Yuna leaned into Jin’s arms and laid her head on his chest, “It’s going to be ok,” said Yuna softly and Jin just about believed her.
They stayed like that as their fire dwindled and watched the celebrations slowly fade.
…
The next day Jin sat alone in the small hut he and Yuna had briefly made their own. A faint breeze slipped through the broken shutters, stirring the thin sheets of paper laid before him. Jin had planned to use the time to write letters to all those he couldn’t say goodbye to in person, so at least they would know what happened to him when he disappeared for good.
He dipped the brush into the ink, letting the excess drip back into the pot, and stared at the blank page. He tried to breath, to calm his mind, to let out all the things he wanted to say, his gratitude and regrets.
He could hear Sensei Ishikawa’s voice snapping in his mind, Don’t get sentimental with me now, Sakai, and chuckled. Perhaps the sensei would give him this one allowance for this dose of sentimentality.
Jin picked up his brush and started to write.
…
Hours later Jin leant back, his hand aching and covered in ink. The pages before him were covered in words, some cramped and written in a rush, others forced out over some time. But every letter was done. Except one.
Footsteps crunched outside and Jin’s hand immediately drifted to the kunai resting on the desk beside him, his shoulders tensing.
“It’s just me,” called Yuna before pushing open the door, and Jin relaxed immediately. They had both gotten so used to jumping at any threat that, after a few incidents they’d rather forget, they figured out how not to trigger each other.
Yuna’s eyes were wet, but the expression on her face was calm and determined. “Taka?” Jin asked.
“He knows.”
Jin nodded. “Do you want to write any letters?” asked Jin.
“I…” said Yuna, trailing off. The two people she had truly cared for were Jin and Taka, and she had said her goodbyes to Taka. Most of the friends she had made wouldn’t be surprised if they never saw her again, it was just the nature of life. She wasn’t like Jin, who cared for people deeply and had a talent of making them care for him deeply in return. “Add a note telling Kenji he can’t rely on you or me to pull him out of his messes any more. And … tell him I’ll miss him.”
“He’ll crow about that for days,” grinned Jin, picking up his brush.
“Just as well we’re leaving,” said Yuna, then noticed a page in front of Jin, which was empty except for the single word, Uncle, and scowled. Yuna stepped closer, reading the word again as if daring it to change. “You’re really going to write to him?” she asked quietly. There wasn’t anger in her tone, just tired disbelief, the kind that came from seeing Jin walk again and again towards pain when he could’ve turned away.
“I should,” Jin said softly, setting the brush down. “He’s still my family. Whatever he’s done… whatever I’ve done…” He trailed off, the familiar weight pressing down on his chest.
Yuna snorted, “He made you an outlaw. Hunted you like a dog. You don’t owe him anything.”
Jin wished, not for the first time, that he could make Yuna understand. That he could show her the Lord Shimura he had known, the man who had been more a father to him than his own father had ever been. Who had taken a grieving, angry and guilt-ridden boy, loved him, and taken the time to put all the pieces of that boy back together. But Yuna had only known the Lord Shimura that had emerged from the Khan’s captivity, who had seemed just as changed as Jin had been, and who had shown Yuna nothing but cruelty.
“I know,” said Jin, “but I still need to write it, even if he never reads it,” Jin gave a lopsided grin. “Don’t worry, I won’t deliver it personally this time. I’ll give all the letters to Lady Masako. She has the contacts and the knowledge to pass them on where needed, and … she can decide whether to pass this one onto Lord Shimura. It would be a risk for her, after all.”
For a long moment, Yuna said nothing. Then, with a resigned sigh, she sank down across from him. “Fine. Write your letter. But don’t expect me to say anything kind about the man.”
Jin gave a faint smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
He dipped the brush again and began to write. The words came slowly at first, hesitant strokes on the paper, but soon the ink began to flow.
Uncle,
Perhaps it is the foolishness of a child to hope that one day you will understand what I have done. That one day you will not think of me as a monster.
You once told me once that a samurai’s first duty to his lord and his clan. That a samurai without a master is nothing. I believed that then. In many ways I still do.
You must therefore understand the pain I live with, Clan Sakai dissolved, no longer a samurai.
But it was a sacrifice I understood, and made, because you also taught me of a different duty. The duty a samurai has to protect and serve his people.
After Komoda Beach I understood that pride must be set aside if I was to protect my people. I was one man against an army of thousands. I could not face them head on, as a samurai should. All that would achieve was my death. And what use would my death, as honourable as it may be, be to those I was sworn to protect? If they were slaughtered because I had chosen an honourable death, there would be no honour in that.
So I sacrificed my honour. I do not regret it. Tsushima was saved.
I have written this last note in the hope that one day you may think of me kindly. I am leaving Tsushima, going beyond the Shogun’s reach. You will not find me.
You will always be my family.
I wish you peace,
Jin
Jin set the brush down, staring at the wet ink. His hand trembled slightly.
Yuna put a hand on his shoulder, “He never deserved you, you know. And you,” she let out a frustrated breath. She had never understand the twisted samurai codes that Jin still held so close, “you were always more than a samurai. You were…”
“A Ghost?”
“More than that, too.”
“Well,” said Jin, staring at the words he had written, “You can hate him for the both of us then,”
“I will,” said Yuna. “Get something to eat, then get some rest. You look like you’ve been fighting ink demons all day. You can take the letters to Lady Masako tomorrow. I’ll start making arrangements,” Yuna sat on the chair beside Jin and pulled out what food they had. They had indulged in the celebrations so they only had scraps and leftovers, but it was enough to get them through. “There’s one thing to ask before I talk to the Iki pirates. Your … things.”
Jin froze slightly. He had kept various mementos of his life before Komoda Beach, of the Ghost, of his clan and those clans that had fallen to the Mongols. As dangerous as it was to keep them, they gave him comfort, “I’ll tell Lady Masako where I’ve hidden everything,” he said. “She will make sure everything is … given the proper respect,” Jin was surprised at how much his voice shook. They were just things.
Yuna sighed. Sometimes she was as foolish as her idiot samurai, “I’ll talk to them. See if we can make an arrangement.”
Jin glanced at Yuna in surprise. Taking everything would be foolish, he opened his mouth to protest and Yuna said, “Hush. I’ll talk to them. Can’t promise anything. But we’ll try. Now say ‘thank you, Yuna’,”
“Thank you, Yuna.”
Yuna grinned, the edge of her mouth quirking upwards. “See? Was that so hard?” She nudged him gently, trying to dispel the heaviness that lingered between them. “Eat. Rest. We can worry about it tomorrow.”
“Yes, my wife,”
Yuna shoved him on the shoulder and they ate in silence, fingers occasionally brushing as they reached for the same bit of food.
…
It was rare that Yuna woke before Jin. Between startling at every little sound and what haunted him in his dreams, he slept little. That night though he slept long and deep, surfacing to wakefulness slowly and groggily. Jin blinked at the sunlight beaming through the broken shutters and felt the emptiness beside him.
“Y-Yuna?” he said, still half asleep, before remembering she was planning to leave early to make arrngements. She must have left him to sleep. A part of him was grateful, and wondered just how deeply he must have been sleeping not to notice her leaving, but a greater part, one that never truly stopped, started worrying over her absence.
Jin noticed a note placed prominently on the table. It read:
Jin,
You were sleeping for once, so I didn’t want to wake you. It’s going to take a little extra time to arrange taking your things. Don’t say anything – I didn’t want to deal with your brooding if we left them behind.
Meet me where it all started when you’re done.
Yuna
The note was brusque and aware that anything written down could be read by anyone. A paranoia they had grown all too familiar with, but a smile crept over Jin’s face as he read it. Yuna would kill anyone who accused her of sentimentality, but when it came to the people she cared about her actions nearly always gave her away. Jin had half expected for Yuna to admit that taking his things would be impossible, and he would have accepted that, but Yuna, who had spent her life living with next to nothing, had taken the time to make sure he had the things he cared about. She would grumble about not wanting to deal with a spoilt samurai lord sulking, but it was her way of making him feel better about leaving, and it meant the world to him.
Jin tucked the note away. He needed to get the letters to Lady Masako.
Visiting Lady Masako was always a strange affair. In the years since the destruction of Clan Adachi she had rebuilt the Adachi Estate, even if she hadn’t rebuilt her family, and the Estate was always occupied by attendants. Jin knew Lady Masako had chosen her various attendants and retainers with the utmost care since the treason that destroyed her family. Those that now served Clan Adachi served with the utmost loyalty.
Still, he would not put that loyalty to the test.
Jin could not arrive at the front gate, or announce himself at the door. He had to sneak in like a thief.
Or a ghost.
Lady Masako found him in a dark corner of the library. She reacted with surprising calm to finding an armed man hiding in the shadows. “Jin,” she said, “it has been too long.” Her voice only wavered slightly, betraying the emotion she kept tightly in check.
“I apologise. I promised I would visit more often, but…”
Masako nodded. She understood. Jin still felt guilty. He was one of the only people Masako had left and he had failed in his duty as a friend.
“The woman?” asked Masako stiffly.
“Yuna is well.”
Lady Masako’s shoulders relaxed slightly. Jin could not think of two people more different, but somehow Yuna and Lady Masako had formed a strange friendship.
“I apologise, Masako, but I need a favour.”
“Do not apologise,” said Lady Masako sternly, and led him to a small alcove where they could sit.
“You don’t know the favour yet.”
“Precisely. Opening with an apology is foolish when you don’t know the disposition of your companion. Apologising beforehand pre-emptively undermines your request by assuming it is something that needs apologising for. Something I may not agree with. Were you taught nothing? Now, your favour?”
Jin hesitated. He didn’t say that, of course he had had tutors. He had been taught that the only person he would be truly accountable to was his Lord.
Now he had made new rules for himself. He was accountable to himself. He was accountable to the people of Tsushima. He was accountable to his friends. What that meant he was still trying to figure out. All the rules he knew, even the ways of conversation, had to be rebuilt.
He said none of that and plunged ahead, “I’m leaving Tsushima. Now that the Mongols are gone it’s better for everyone – and better for Tsushima – if I leave. If I’m captured it could … cause trouble. And I put everyone who helps me in danger. It’s better if I disappear,” Jin reached into his pack and pulled out the letters. “I want to say goodbye. I don’t want my friends to be left with questions. I can’t deliver these myself though.”
Lady Masako nodded. The wetness in her eyes the only sign of emotion. She took the letters and looked through them, “Yuna?”
“She’s coming with me.”
Lady Masako let out a long sigh, “Good … that’s good. You should not be alone, Jin.”
Jin took out his final letter, “I leave this one to your discretion.”
Lady Masako’s eyes fell upon the final letter, the one addressed simply: Uncle.
Lady Masako said nothing for a long moment. “You still seek peace with him?” she asked at last, her tone one of a mother who must teach her son a harsh reality.
Jin shook his head, “I know that is long past, even if part of me still hopes. But I must say the words, even if he never reads them.”
Lady Masako’s gaze lingered on the letter for a moment longer, the paper trembling slightly in her fingers. “Hope can be both a mercy and a curse,” she said quietly. “I understand why you must do this, but I will not pretend it is wise.”
Jin inclined his head. “Few of my choices have been.”
That earned a small huff of laughter from her. A moment passed between them. They shared the same terrible pain of having been forced to fight their own family. Lady Masako would never have spared Hana as he had spared Lord Shimura; Hana’s crimes were too great, but Lady Masako understood the poisonous mixture of hope and pain he felt towards his uncle.
Lady Masako tucked the letters away with practiced care. “I will see these reach your friends. You have my word. As for this one,” she tapped the letter to Lord Shimura, “I will wait until you are long gone and I can deliver it without risk to either of us. Until then, I will keep it.”
“Thank you,” said Jin, bowing his head. It went unsaid Lady Masako might never be able to deliver the letter, but her promise was more than Jin had hoped for.
“Now,” said Lady Masako briskly, “I wish to take tea with you and speak of other things, one last time.”
…
Jin rode through the night, the wind at his back and the stars bright in the clear sky.
Yuna had said to meet where it all started. Komoda Beach. It wasn’t a surprise. He knew that smugglers used the beach; it was away from any official eyes and it’s reputation as being haunted by the ghosts of dead samurai helped keep people away. Yet he couldn’t help the cold shiver that ran through him at being back.
The years had wiped all traces of the battle from the beach. The remains of the Mongol ships were long gone now, either claimed by the sea or dismantled for wood. Grass and weeds grew where countless men had fallen. Gulls circled lazily overhead. Jin would almost call it peaceful. It wasn’t the first time he had returned to Komoda Beach, but as he looked across the beach he could still see the samurai before him, hear their war cries turned to screams. So many men cut down in moments.
The stories said he died here and was reborn as The Ghost. Sometimes he wondered if they were right.
“Jin,”
Yuna’s voice broke him from his memory. He turned, Yuna stood a short distance away, the wind whipping strands of hair across her face. Behind her, half-hidden in a small cove, was a boat - weathered, patched, and clearly the kind of vessel no one would look at twice. Two men were checking the ropes, pretending not to watch the infamous Ghost.
“Your friends work fast,” Jin said softly, walking toward her.
“Turns out you’re more popular on Iki than you thought. And they owed me,” Yuna said with a shrug, though her voice carried that note of pride she never quite managed to hide when her plans worked out.
Jin out a breath, “Are you sure about this?” he asked in a rush. “You don’t have to leave because of me. I-”
Yuna placed a hand over Jin’s mouth, silencing him. “I’m sure,” she said. “All my life I’ve moved from place to place, trying to survive. This is no different really, but, if we’re lucky and smart, we might end up somewhere safe for once. Somewhere we can somewhere we can live,” Yuna finished softly.
The word hung between them, fragile and foreign. Jin realised he couldn’t remember the last time he had thought of living—not surviving, not fighting, not atoning, but simply living.
“What about you?” asked Yuna. “Are you sure?”
“No,” said Jin eventually. “But I have to do this.”
Yuna placed a hand on his shoulder, her thumb idly rubbing the sore muscles there, “C’mon. They’ll will be getting nervous. Smuggling The Ghost himself doesn’t make for a quiet trip.”
Jin nodded, but gave one last glance around the beach, “Where it began and where it ends,” he murmured. “I suppose there’s a certain poetry to that.”
“You samurai and your poetry,” snorted Yuna, but she couldn’t help adding, “maybe it’s where it begins again.”
“We’ll make a poet of you yet,” teased Jin. “What … do you suppose we’ll do?”
It was something they hadn’t discussed. The only discussions they had had were whether they should, and the practicalities of, leaving Tsushima. What happened next seemed impossible to discuss, like it was a different life that belonged to a different person. Jin expected another joke about his future as a boring fisherman, but Yuna’s face turned thoughtful.
“Perhaps you could teach. You’re the best swordsman on the island, after all. As well as teaching your … you know … Ghost methods.”
The thought of passing on his Way of the Ghost, as if it were something worthy to be taught, revolted the honourable samurai that still resided within Jin. But that honourable samurai had grown quieter over two invasions that those same dishonourable tactics had fought off.
Of course, he wasn’t a samurai anymore.
He wondered if there would ever come a day when he wouldn’t have to remind himself of that fact.
“Well,” Jin said, “I shall have to work on my grumpiness. You’ve seen Sensei Ishikawa, that sort of attitude is cultivated.”
“We can work on it,” Yuna said, leaning in to give him a quick, fierce kiss. “And I’ll make sure you actually get paid. You’d probably forget all about the money like a true samurai lordling.”
Jin laughed, slightly lightheaded from the kiss. He glanced back at the beach. When he had fought in the battle of Komoda Beach he had been sure he would die for Tsushima. He had accepted his death as a samurai should, but Yuna had saved him. Nevertheless, ever since that battle he had been sure his end would come at the edge of a blade, either Mongol, or samurai. Abandoning that death, abandoning Tsushima, had felt like a betrayal, but for the first time he was at peace with it.
Jin heard the men from boat calling. The tide didn’t wait for samurai or thief. They walked towards the boat.
“Tenzo?” Jin said in surprise as the men’s faces became clearer. The lanky, wiry frame of the Iki raider he had once fought alongside—and nearly killed—stood at the bow, grin wide beneath a tangle of wind-whipped hair. Next to him was Kichiro, another familiar face from the island, both holding ropes and looking far too cheerful for men sneaking a notorious samurai out of Tsushima.
“Well, I couldn’t miss this, could I? A chance to smuggle the Shogun’s most wanted. Besides,” his voice lowered and took on a more serious tone, “we still owe you. I’m not one to forget debts. And I would hate to die being indebted to a Sakai.”
Jin snorted, “Careful, or I’ll just have to save Iki again and you’ll be indebted once again.”
Tenzo gave a theatrically low bow, “A deadly threat, my lord”, he threw Jin some ropes. “Now help us with the boat.”
Jin gave a theatrical bow in return and traded friendly barbs as he helped haul the boat into the water. The weight of the boat burned his worn muscles and he was glad for it. It gave him something to focus on.
“Mind your step,” Tenzo warned with mock solemnity as Jin climbed in the boat, hands steady despite the tremor under his ribs. “We don’t want the Shogun’s most wanted taking a swim on his first night of freedom.”
“I was planning to make a grand entrance into the sea,” Jin said, and Tenzo laughed. Tenzo and Kichiro moved with the easy, practiced swiftness and the boat began to move from the shore. Jin looked to the horizon, the wind whipping his hair and the smell of salt on the air.
Yuna silently took his hand and settled her head on his shoulder, a small, weary sigh escaping her lips. "See? We made it," she murmured.
“Yes, we did,” Jin murmured back. He had expected to feel guilt. Shame, even. For leaving. For abandoning the land that had made him, broken him, rebuilt him. And he had, he had wrestled with the decision for so long in silence, felt guilty for even considering it. But now that he was leaving, that Tsushima was fading into the distance, all he felt was a strange calm.
In front of him was a future he couldn’t imagine. He could be anything. He might even be a boring fisherman. And for the first time, he felt good about that. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Yuna’s lips. Things were going to be ok.