The Pale Banner
Act I The city of Kyoto did not breathe; it exhaled, a long, damp sigh that settled into the crevices of the machiya rows and the wet stone of the central plaza. Michiko Nakagawa stood at the edge of this exhalation, her knuckles white around the rough-hewn staff of the Pale Banner, the wood slick with the morning rain that had found every hole in the city’s roofs. She was forty-two, a...
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