Kuni Nakanu squinted and brought the lantern closer, trying to locate even the tiniest change in the tissue. The body had first been exposed to the Shadowlands nearly twelve hours ago. The change would come soon, but for the moment there was little danger. Nakanu noted a slight discoloration around the wounds that had killed this particular peasant, and made a notation in his most recent scroll. It appeared as though there was some variation in the time it took for Jigoku’s influence, this odd power he had come to refer to as the “Taint” to seep into a corpse. Many factors seemed to affect the process, including cause of death, extent of the wounds, and other variables. From a scholarly standpoint, it was quite fascinating. It was as if evil was a tangible, physical element, like an invisible, viscous liquid. If one was not cautious, he could drown in it. The ramifications of his discoveries were too important to ignore. If the Shadowlands continued to slowly expand as they had, toward the lands of the Hiruma and his own family’s lands… it was too unsettling to dwell upon.

There. Nakanu’s eyes widened. A slight twitch in the corpse’s left arm. It was something that might be dismissed as a spasm from corpse settling into death now that the soul had departed, but experience had taught Nakanu differently. Pleased with the results of his observation, he rolled up the scroll and placed it with others. Nakanu quickly took the iron chains that hung from his workshop’s walls and shackled the corpse’s legs. When it awoke and became more mobile, it would pose no threat. As he closed the left manacle he noted with some satisfaction that the hand had balled into a fist, seemingly of its own accord.

That grisly task accomplished, Nakanu turned to the stack of recent scrolls he had completed. He placed the scrolls carefully in a hollowed out section of the floor, covering them with a heavy stone. The old shugenja spoke a brief prayer as he did so, purifying the stain that the touch of dead flesh had left upon his soul. The work he was doing would be considered revolting and probably blasphemous to many, but the Crab would have great use for Nakanu’s findings. His sensei, a wise and unappreciated man, had always taught that to defeat an enemy, one must first understand them. Thus far, the Crab had precious little understanding of their foes, and it cost the lives of brave warriors every day. Nakanu would gladly suffer any punishment for his research if he could prevent such loss.

Nakanu looked over the most recent scrolls, adding a comment here or a diagram there to reflect today’s examination. Already the shugenja could see support for several of his theories. Other observations would need further study before they could be verified. The Taint, it seemed, not only could befoul the living, but would also create a semblance of life where there was none. The undead legions his clan had faced in the War Against Fu Leng were perhaps not all intentional creations of the Dark Kami and his followers – many may well have risen of their own accord.

There was a stirring sound behind him, where his older test subjects were chained until he could determine if they had further use. He glanced casually over his shoulder, more from annoyance than concern or curiosity. The beasts did not possess the manual dexterity to free themselves. The chains were Kaiu steel, so he did not fear their escape.

Cold, dead hands seized his legs even as he turned. The noxious stink of decaying flesh filled his nostrils and he felt brittle, rotten teeth tearing at the cloth of his kimono at the calf. Nakanu shouted in surprised and kicked viciously. His sandal sank into the crawling corpse’s flesh sickeningly, but drove the beast away. It took a shuffling movement forward, one hand reaching for Nakanu. The shugenja spoke a word of power, surrounding himself with a ward of blazing energy. Nakanu looked at the chains and realized in terror that they were still intact. The creature had torn its own legs from their sockets to escape its manacles.

Nakanu tried to ignore the freezing pain that spread out from the bite. Tatters of rotten flesh hung from the beast’s mouth, and it chewed with the detached laziness of an oxen. Its dead, empty eyes stared at Nakanu impassively. The burning in his leg was intense, and Nakanu felt fluttering panic as he considered the probability that it would become Tainted if left untreated. As he knelt to whisper a spell of healing over his wound, the legless corpse crawled toward the other chained dead. Seizing the manacles of the nearest, it began to heave. The other corpse stood, pulling at its bonds as well, combining its strength with its fellow to yank its chains free. Nakanu summoned another spell and gestured toward the undead thing. A cascade of yellow fire suffused the two corpses.

It was only at the last moment that he realized his error. Uncaring of the damage the fire did or the pain it would have dealt a living creature, the flaming undead charged toward Nakanu. Nakanu had time only to cast one final spell before its chains sliced through the air, connecting with the old shugenja’s skull with grim finality.

Nakanu had always feared that his studies might escape his control. He had feared this day, and he had planned for it. The entire building shook with the force of a sudden explosion, shattering pottery containers and various delicate instruments all across the room. Nakanu fell to his knees beneath the weight of a falling beam, blood streaming into his eyes. Through the fog that clouded his mind, Nakanu saw that the collapse had freed the other corpses he had chained to his wall. They would likely not escape before the fires consumed his laboratory. At least, he hoped they would not.

His last thought as the zombies fell upon him was gratitude that his work, at least, would one day be found.

Miya Shoin coughed as he stepped into the cavernous library, waving away the cobwebs with one hand as he squinted into the darkness. Row upon row of tall wooden racks receded into the shadows, each stacked high with dust-covered scrolls. Though he knew many hours of painstaking work lay ahead, recording and restoring the scrolls, he could not help the giddy excitement that filled him at the discovery.

“How long has this been here, Yozo?” he asked, turning to the shaven-headed monk who carried a torch beside him.

“Decades, sama,” Yozo said softly.

“Why such sadness, my friend, this is a fantastic discovery,” Shoin replied. “Think of the wisdom that a place such as this has locked away!”

Yozo bowed his head slightly. “This place was hidden for a reason,” he said. “Decades ago, Yogo Junzo hunted the Brotherhood in a mad quest to destroy the descendant of Shinsei. He burned our libraries as he went, destroying our lore as he slaughtered our brothers. Many of the monks here valued their wisdom more than their life, and kept its secrets hidden. Thus, this library survived the Clan War. The monks who once tended it were not so fortunate. Their entire sect perished, but Junzo never found their treasured scrolls. To you, this is a library, Shoin-sama. To my order… it is a tomb.”

“I see,” Shoin said solemnly. “I intended no disrespect.”

Yozo nodded. “They Miya have ever been close friends with the Brotherhood. This is why we chose to reveal this to you. We hope that you might take what you find here, present it to the Imperial Libraries. Hopefully the sacrifice our brothers made may yet benefit the Empire.”

“I will do my best,” Shoin said. “The Clan War and War Against the Darkness wiped out many of our greatest archives. This is a rare and precious gift.”

“Some of my brethren have begun to search these scrolls,” Yozo replied. “Already we have found this.” The monk reached into the satchel at his side, offering the scroll to Shoin.

The Imperial Herald’s eyes widened when he saw the title upon the scroll. “This cannot be,” he said. “This book cannot exist.”

“It can,” the monk said, “and it does. Take it, please.”

Shoin reached for the scroll with a trembling hand and unrolled it slightly, glancing quickly at its contents. “This is one of Nakanu’s scrolls,” he said. “His research is the foundation of all maho, black magic.”

“And also the foundation of our understanding of the Shadowlands Taint,” Yozo said plaintively. “Its contents are of concern if one intends to use them to evil. They are, of course, only words.” He shrugged. “Is a hammer evil because it can be used for violence when that same hammer might be used to build a shelter for your family? Or is the violence within our souls the true evil?”

Shoin frowned. “I understand little of what I read, but I am no shugenja. Were any of your order able to understand the scroll?” Shoin looked at the monk.

“No,” Yozo answered. “We are assured that the scroll is legitimate, but we have never been able to decipher its contents. It seems Nakanu possessed a knowledge of the Taint that few can understand, even among shugenja.”

“Perhaps the Kuni would be able to comprehend this,” Shoin mused.

“No, they would not.”

The herald studied the monk carefully. “How can you be certain?”

The monk held up his hands. “There are a handful of retired Kuni among our number. They refuse to examine the scroll. Nakanu’s name is cursed among his former clan. They refuse to touch his writings, even though many of his discoveries keep the Crab armies safe to this day.”

“Foolish superstition,” Shoin replied.

“Perhaps,” Yozo answered, “but these same superstitions also grant the Kuni their magic. We cannot question their ways.”

Shoin sighed and rolled the scroll back up. He should have known better than to expect a trip to a Brotherhood library to be straightforward and simple. “Regardless,” he said carefully, “the contents of this scroll may be of great use to the Empire, especially with the Bloodspeakers on the march. It must be deciphered and studied as quickly as possible.”

Yozo said nothing, his even gaze implying this was all known to him, and indeed was the reason for Shoin having been summoned.

“Yes, well,” the herald said, rapidly becoming irritated with the encounter, “I will find the appropriate place for this.” He bowed deeply. “You have my thanks, Yozo-san. You and your order have ever been friends to the Miya.”

“Wisdom is but a seed, and one must be cautious where it is planted,” the monk said cryptically. “With whom will you share yours?”

“The Emerald Champion,” Shoin said without hesitation. “He has agents in the area who can be of assistance in this matter, I believe.”

Shoin waited patiently in the small audience chamber. The magistrate’s headquarters was small, but extravagantly decorated and obviously very well-equipped. The Unicorn had always been eager to display their wealth, although Shoin understood from his older family members that when the Shinjo had ruled the clan they had maintained a modicum of taste with regard to decoration. Most considered the Moto style almost vulgar in its ostentation, though he personally found many of their gaijin decorations quite fascinating.

The door to the chambers beyond opened and a young samurai walked out. His clothing was of good quality, though it had none of the impractical extravagance of a courtier. He smiled broadly at Shoin and bowed deeply. “Welcome, Miya Shoin-sama. I regret that you were kept waiting.”

“I arrived without previous announcement,” Shoin said, returning the bow. “I would not presume to ask you or your comrades to halt your work for my benefit.”

“Nevertheless,” the young man continued, “I would not wish to show a guest poor manners. I am Moto Najmudin, magistrate in the service of the Emerald Champion. I am told you asked to speak with me?”

“Yes,” Shoin replied, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “I apologize, I thought you were perhaps an assistant or yoriki.”

“I do not have the traditional Moto demeanor, true,” Najmudin said, his smile widening. “As my friends are all too eager to point out! Or was it my age? I hear that often as well.”

“Both,” the herald admitted. “I have heard much of your exploits. I suppose I imagined you would be older.”

“Some of what you have heard is doubtless exaggeration,” Najmudin explained. “As for the rest… I have been very fortunate.”

“You are too modest,” Shoin insisted. “But it is your bravery during the Rain of Blood and afterwards that has brought me here.”

The magistrate’s expression grew dour at the mention of the Rain.

“I have heard that you and your colleagues fought alongside Matsu Hitomi and the Phoenix at the City of Remembrance,” Shoin said. “Is that correct?”

“It is,” Najmudin confirmed. “She was a ray of hope on an otherwise dark and hopeless day.”

“I have further heard,” Shoin continued, “that in the battle’s aftermath you discovered documents identifying a number of Bloodspeakers throughout the Empire. Many were tried and executed on the basis of your findings.”

Najmudin nodded. “That is also correct.”

“And you and your colleagues Jiyuna, Fusako, and Takenao have each been promoted to investigate all matters concerning the Bloodspeakers and their activities within the confines of your individual clans’ lands. You each now report directly to Hachi or one of his senior magistrates.” He looked at the Unicorn expectantly.

“Partially correct,” Najmudin offered. “With all respect, what is the point of this? What interest is our work to the Imperial Herald?”

Shoin waved the comment away. “I do not wish to waste your time, Najmudin-san. Nevertheless, you and your allies have rapidly become very prominent in the Empire’s struggle against the Bloodspeakers, meaning that you are the ideal person to put this to use.” He drew out a large scroll from his obi. “Do you know of Kuni Nakanu?”

“I do not.”

“Kuni Nakanu was among the first shugenja to study the strange phenomenon that occur in the Shadowlands – peculiar weather, stunted crops, transformed wildlife, high incidence of madness and infection in those who ventured too close to Fu Leng’s domain,” Shoin explained. “He was the scholar who first discovered the Shadowlands Taint. He named it, in fact, to describe the unhealthy pallor it often caused in those exposed to it. He also conducted experiments into how it affected the dead, and documented many of the physical steps leading up to it. Some have theorized that his work might contain the secrets of how the Taint might be reversed.”

“Is that possible?” Najmudin asked. “How could the Crab not know?”

“Nakanu was a madman,” Shoin replied. “When he died, his creations ran loose in Crab lands, murdering many. “The Crab confiscated his later findings and sealed them, lest they be used to cause greater evil. They were later stolen by servants of Iuchiban, and assumed to be lost.” He hefted the scroll again. “Until now. Even if the belief that Nakanu’s work can cure the Taint is a false one, it is known that Iuchiban used these writings to become what he is. Perhaps the Bloodspeaker’s weakness might lie within this scroll.”

Najmudin nodded slowly, taking it all in. “What do you need from me, Shoin-sama?”

Shoin frowned. “I have already had a copy scribed and entered into the Miya archives, but the content is too confusing. None among the Miya have the necessary experience dealing with maho and the like to make sense of all that it details.”

“Have you consulted the Crab?”

“Not as yet,” Shoin admitted. “As I said before, Nakanu is an extremely sensitive subject where the Crab are concerned. I have brought you the original in hopes that someone among the Emerald and Jade Magistrates may be able to decipher it.”

“I will do my best to find such a person, Shoin-sama,” Najmudin replied.

Shoin smiled weakly. “Thank you for your aid, Najmudin-san.”

The magistrate took the scroll. “I will have copies made and delivered to Asahina Sekawa, as well as to my kinsmen at Shiro Iuchi. They can be trusted with such secrets, and may know something.” He thought for a moment.

“I ask only that you be cautious, Najmudin-san,” Shoin warned. “Iuchiban is a most dangerous enemy. This may be our only chance to learn where he gained his power.”

Najmudin bowed slightly. “They shall not fall into the Bloodspeaker’s hands,” he replied.

Lady Moon cast the vast forest to the south in an otherworldly light. Looking at it now, Moto Latomu could believe every ghost story ever told about the forest, stories that were easy to dismiss in the light of day. He shifted in his saddle uneasily and glanced at the man who had accompanied him here. “You are certain the one who can help me will be here?” he asked.

“Yes,” the monk said.

Latomu shook his head in irritation. “How can you be certain?”

Yozo met the Unicorn’s gaze with his even, unwavering stare. “Is it important?”

“No,” Latomu scowled, “I suppose not.” He reached into his saddlebag as he had every few minutes since leaving the Moto lands, confirming that the scroll was still there. He had been assigned to take a copy of it from Mizu Mura to an old Iuchi scholar in the south. Latomu had done so, fulfilling his duty without question. What he had done beyond that was almost certainly enough to cost him his life if it had ever come to light: he had made a copy for himself.

Should Najmudin or, Fortunes help him, Chagatai discover what he had done, Latomu would be executed on suspicion of practicing maho. In truth, however, he loathed the dark art above all things. He had only taken a copy in hopes of finding a way to use it against Iuchiban, to use it as a weapon and make the Bloodspeaker suffer as he had suffered during the Rain of Blood.

Not for the first time, Latomu glanced at the monk and wondered at his motivations. He had known Yozo since his childhood, the old monk that tended the temple near his village. But how had the monk known what he carried? And how had they happened to find one another? Perhaps most importantly, why was the monk aiding him in this potentially treasonous endeavor.

Yozo’s expression did not change, but he looked suddenly at Latomu. “None of that is important, Latomu,” he said, answering the Moto’s thoughts. “We do what must be done.”

Latomu remembered the Rain of Blood. He remembered the image of his wife, drenched in blood and screaming obscenities as she murdered their only son. He remembered striking her down with his blade. He remembered wishing that the rain would take his soul as well, so that someone else might strike him down in turn… but no one did.

There was a slight rustling noise from the forest’s edge, and a man appeared in the shadows. “Who is there?” he called out, his voice strangely ragged.

Latomu leapt down from his steed, his hand on the hilt of his weapon. “I am here,” he answered. “I am Latomu, of the White Guard.”

“A Unicorn?” the voice was suddenly full of scorn and anger. “What treachery is this?” The man drew an arrow and fixed it to his bow, stepping forward to take aim at Latomu’s chest. As he moved, the moonlight revealed him, highlighting the gaunt, yellowed flesh and the blackened pockmarks that covered his face. Though he looked weak and ravaged by disease, he moved with unnatural speed and confidence.

“One of the Lost!” Latomu hissed, drawing his scimitar in a flash. The arrow whistled through the night air, but he managed to deflect it with the sword-guard on his blade. Latomu growled a battle cry and rushed forward toward the Tainted samurai. His enemy responded by putting aside his bow and drawing a blacksteel katana.

“Yes, by all means,” Yozo’s voice echoed even over the haze of battle. “Destroy one another. Iuchiban will prosper from your mutual destruction.”

Latomu halted at once, his breath coming quickly and raggedly. The Lost samurai paused as well, yellow eyes narrowing. They did not remove their gazes from one another.

“Explain what this Moto is doing here, Yozo,” the Lost samurai demanded.

“Each of you wishes to see Iuchiban destroyed. Moto Latomu, you blame the Bloodspeaker for the deaths of your family, and rightfully so. Daigotsu Meguro, you desire Iuchiban’s destruction so that your lord might reclaim his rightful throne in the City of the Lost.”

The two combatants looked at each other carefully, the hate in their eyes diminished only slightly. “What does any of this have to do with Iuchiban?” Meguro asked.

Yozo gestured toward the Unicorn. “Latomu carries copies of Nakanu’s writings, from which Iuchiban learned the secrets of maho. His weakness might be learned from the information therein.”

“Then I will kill him and take it,” Meguro snarled.

“Try,” Latomu answered, holding his scimitar ready.

“Does Daigotsu have the resources to marshal a full attack against Iuchiban?” Yozo asked calmly. “Does the Empire have the knowledge necessary to understand what is contained within those scrolls?”

“Someone will understand,” Latomu said obstinately. “Some scholar among the Phoenix, or the Crab, or the Jade Magistrates.”

Yozo sighed. “And do you have time to find this someone before another tragedy like the Rain of Blood occurs? You know Daigotsu’s followers have the expertise you require.”

“The Dark Lord killed the Emperor,” Latomu roared. “They are traitors to the Celestial Order itself. I will not help us.”

“You call yourself samurai?” Meguro snarled. “It is your Emperor Toturi who had no respect for the Order. He murdered our god!”

“Iuchiban would see both your dynasties, Toturi and Daigotsu, laid waste,” Yozo replied. “Each of you might wish to see your own lord rule all the realms of mortal and spirit, but the Bloodspeaker would destroy everything. Would you let your pride consume Rokugan and the Shadowlands?”

“How can I trust this abomination to return and tell me what he has learned?” Latomu asked.

“Why should I believe what this coward offers is genuine?” Meguro countered.

“Both of you have only my word,” the monk replied. “Both of you have served your masters well. If you see an enemy, if you see a traitor, see it in me.”

Latomu could not bring himself to hate the old monk. He nodded and lowered his sword slightly. He slowly drew the scroll from his belt and weighed it in his hand for a moment. Finally, he drew a deep breath and tossed it across the distance toward Meguro. “If you betray my trust, I will find you,” he snarled. “No matter how deep in the Shadowlands you hide.”

Meguro’s eyes narrowed. “My word is my bond,” he replied with a bow. “We shall see if you can keep your side of this arrangement, ‘samurai.’” Meguro retreated into the shadows, watching Latomu all the while.

Latomu said nothing more to Meguro. He turned to the monk, his mouth open to ask a question.

But Yozo was gone.

Through the shrouded mists that separated the various spirit realms, Yozo watched the two men part ways. He nodded slowly. All was proceeding as he had hoped it would; though the two warriors had every reason to destroy one another, they had established some level of trust without denying what they were. Perhaps there was hope after all.

A shimmer of green appeared to his left, and a second figure appeared. “Yozo,” the man said bitterly. “What have you done?”

“I have done what must be done, Omen,” Yozo answered. “I have given both Daigotsu and the Empire information that could lead to Iuchiban’s destruction. The balance must be restored.”

“Why Daigotsu?” Omen demanded. “He released Fu Leng into the Heavens! You equip our enemies to stand against us!”

Yozo’s form began to melt and change, taking the form of a sinuous dragon. “Daigotsu, for all the darkness in his soul, is part of the Celestial Order, just as a predator has its place in nature. That power can be turned against Iuchiban, if one is cautious.”

“Cautious?” Omen said darkly. “You’re mad, Fortune. You will destroy us all.”

“Perhaps,” Yozo mused. “Or perhaps only I can save us.”