Hiruma Todori was exhausted. For a man whose profession regularly involved scouting through the most deadly regions of the Shadowlands for days on end without food or water, exhaustion was no mean feat. The parched, lifeless gravel crunched beneath Todori’s uncertain footsteps as he made his way up the jagged path. His breath came in uneven gasps. The light of day was quickly fading, dark fingers of shadow clawing out from the edges of the pass to conceal the way. Todori had been in far more deadly regions than this, but these lands were no place to be caught alone and tired in the darkness. He clutched the long cloth-wrapped bundles to his chest and hurried on.

Todori was awarded at last with the sight of a looming fortress of grim black stone, dominating the surrounding mountains. An impossibly large skull with wicked, curving horns hung above the gate. The wind howled between the castle’s towers, as if the castle itself howled defiance at its surroundings. Everything about this place was a warning, a reminder of what happened to those who would come here as an enemy.

To Hiruma Todori, the sight of Kyuden Hida was a relief.

Drawing upon his last reserves of energy, Todori fell into a sprint. He moved openly across the clear ground surrounding the castle, not darting through the shadows as he usually did in his homeland. Here, he wished to be seen. By the time he reached the castle gates, four armored Crab guards had emerged to meet him. He reached into his loose-fitting kimono and drew out an ivory chop, offering it to the nearest guard.

“I am Todori, lord of the Hiruma,” Todori said in a tired voice. “I need to see Lord Kuon at once.”

The guard looked at Todori silently, taking in his battered armor, the bloodstains on his clothing. He was a lord of the Crab; he owed mere guards no explanation of what he had done to come to such a state. Even so, they were fellow Crab. Their lives were worth just as much in their war as his own.

“Hiruma Castle still stands,” he explained. “My visit is personal.”

The guards said nothing, but looked greatly relieved. They opened the gates and admitted him inside.

Within, Kyuden Hida was clean and well lit. There were few decorations, only the occasional suit of armor too ornate to be of use on the Kaiu Wall. A young girl in the plain robes of a servant waited for him. She bowed deeply then moved through the halls without a word, expecting him to follow. Todori was led to a small waiting chamber. He felt strength return to his tired limbs as the welcome scent of cooked food greeted him. A small table stood in the center of the room. Upon it sat a plate of steaming fish, a covered bowl of rice, a cup, and a small black bottle.

“Please, eat, Hiruma-sama,” the girl said softly. “Lord Kuon shall attend you as soon as he is able.”

“Arigato, little one,” Todori said with a grateful smile. “I do not remember the last time I ate cooked food. It smells delicious.” He bowed deeply to the servant girl.

The girl blushed at the unnecessary compliment, returned the gesture, and exited the room. Todori set his bundles down with care and knelt beside the table. Taking up a pair of chopsticks, he snatched the largest piece of fish and chewed thoughtfully, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to enjoy the delicious taste. Crab food had a reputation for being somewhat bland, but Todori preferred it to anything he had tasted. The Crab favored large portions of fried meats and thick vegetables, high energy foods. A warrior never left the table hungry. Simple but effective, just like a Crab.

He peeled the paper wrapper off the sake bottle and tossed away the cork. He paused with the bottle halfway to the cup, pushed the cup aside, and drank directly from the bottle. Though it burned his throat, it wasn’t particularly powerful drink. This was the sort of sake reserved for soldiers and guardsman. Not powerful enough to dull one’s faculties, but much safer than drinking water. This close to the Shadowlands, you never really knew what you might find in the water. Not even the Taint, it was said, could survive in Crab sake.

Todori froze, bottle still at his lips, sensing movement behind him. He quickly peered over one shoulder, hand darting to the katana tucked beneath his obi. A small boy, no more than four, stood behind him in the chamber. It was not unusual to see children working as servants in Kyuden Hida, where every able bodied peasant and samurai was required to defend the Kaiu Wall. The child stared at Todori with wide, dark eyes, unafraid. The old scout grinned, amused at the boy’s steady, serious expression. He produced a bu, a small copper coin, holding it up so the boy could see. He moved his hand in a complex flourish, holding it up palm out to show it was empty. Snapping his fingers, the coin reappeared between his forefinger and thumb.

The child seemed unimpressed, and only stared gravely back.

Todori chuckled and tossed the coin in the air. The boy caught it deftly in one hand and looked at it for a long moment. With a flourish, the boy made the coin disappear and then produced it again with a snap of his tiny fingers. He looked back up at Todori, his expression unchanged.

Todori laughed out loud. “How did you do that?” he asked. “It took me weeks to learn that trick.”

The boy cracked a very slight smile. “Are you Hiruma?” he asked, pointing at the tower mon on Todori’s left shoulder plate.

Todori nodded. “My name is Todori,” he said. “What is yours?”

“Ichiro,” the boy said, “but only for now. When I grow up I will take my great grandfather’s name. He was the greatest hero of the Crab Clan.”

“I see,” Todori said with a grin. So the boy was a samurai child, not a peasant. His bold, fearless demeanor made a little more sense now.

“You have blood on your armor,” the boy continued, pointing at Todori’s battered gear. “Was there a battle?”

Todori nodded.

“Did you win?”

Todori considered giving the boy a cheerful, positive answer. After everything he had seen, he could not cover the truth with false rhetoric, not to a boy who might stand beside him in battle on day. “Yes,” he said, “but the battle is not over.”

The little boy looked at the floor. A slow scowl spread across his face. “When I can wield a sword, I will help you,” he said. “We will break the Wall of Bones.”

“Will we, then?” Todori asked, impressed. He took another drink from his bottle.

“You do not believe me,” the boy answered solemnly, looking up at him again.

The shoji screen opened behind Ichiro and a young woman in a deep blue kimono entered, holding an infant. She wore a daisho at her hip, a bizarre contrast to the gentle way she rocked her child. Todori recognized her at once, though he had never seen her without armor.

“Todori-san,” she said, looking somewhat surprised to see him.

“Lady Reiha,” Todori replied, standing up and bowing to the Lady of the Crab.

Reiha smiled politely. “I must apologize, Todori-san,” she said. “I hope my son has not disturbed your meal. Ichiro, return to your studies.”

Ichiro looked up at Todori. “Remember my promise, Todori,” he whispered.

“I will, little Kisada,” Todori whispered back.

The boy bowed to his mother and hurried out of the room.

“He is an intelligent child,” Todori said.

Reiha nodded, looking in the direction Ichiro had gone with a sad smile. “I cannot spend as much time with him as I would like,” she said. “I worry about him. He spends too much time in Koten, listening to the grim adventures of his ancestors.”

“He already knows his duty,” Todori replied. “Is that not a good thing?”

“Do not misunderstand, Todori-san, I am proud of him,” she replied. “As proud as a mother can be. I only regret that he does not laugh and play like other children. The Shadowlands has taken too much from us.” She looked at him intently. “But I do not need to remind a Hiruma of that. Enjoy your meal, Todori-san. My husband will attend you once you have had a chance to rest.”

“Arigato, my lady,” Todori replied.

He bowed to her a final time as she excused herself, then returned to his meal. Todori made short work of the fish and rice, only realizing when he was done that he had consumed the entire bottle of sake as well. Sitting back on his heels, Todori enjoyed that rarest of Crab treasures – peace.

Much of the Empire did not understand his clan, seeing them as boorish warriors or uncouth ruffians. This reputation was not undeserved, though it was in truth no fault of the Crab themselves. A samurai was expected to prepare for war at all times, but for the Crab life was war. This was the sort of war where one could expect honorable treatment from one’s enemy and gain glory on the field of battle regardless of victory or defeat. This was a war with the Shadowlands – the embodiment of all that was corrupt. The sinister influence of the Taint perverted all that was honorable. Those who fell in battle gained little glory, and might even rise animated by the same forces they once fought so tenaciously. For the Hiruma, the war was even more personal for they did not stand behind the protection of the Kaiu Wall. Crab heroes were countless, but the Empire did not sing their glories. The Crab fought an enemy that could never be defeated, only held in check. It was a fact that those who lived deeper within the safety of Rokugan would rather not be reminded of, and thus the heroics of his clan were brushed aside - except in the dour halls of Koten, where the mournful tales of fallen Crab echoed for eternity.

Todori’s gaze rested upon the bundles he had carried with him, two swords wrapped in white silk, a third in heavy cotton. Todori felt his eyelids droop. His exhausting trek across the wastelands had drained his strength, and the sake was not helping. An experienced soldier knew to sleep when and where he could. Todori rested his chin upon his chest and drifted off where he knelt.

He could tell from the sky that he was back in the Hiruma lands. It was always gray here, neither day nor night, just as it was in the Shadowlands. Centuries ago, the Horde had corrupted these lands. The Hiruma took their castle and lands back, and the Kuni priests had purified the earth, but the skies still bore the Ninth Kami’s touch. Here they were far from the Kaiu Wall, hidden even from the gaze of Lord Sun. The bleak eternal twilight served to eternally remind the Hiruma family of the cardinal fact of their existence:

You are alone.

Todori knew he was in a dream; his mind was too sharp to be deluded otherwise. Even so, he wondered what this dream might portend. Was this some memory of the past, a vision of the future, or some new fiction meant to confuse him? He decided to follow this dream, and see where it led.

Perhaps, with luck, things might turn out differently this time.

They never did, but he could hope.

Todori crouched amid the bushes beside the rough beaten path that served as a road in the Hiruma Wastes. Though the land was not corrupted here, neither was it pure. The land was dry, water sparse, the air often choked with smoke that had no source. The few plants that grew were either poisonous or covered in thick brambles, making survival difficult for the inexperienced. Some said that the elements here were in revolt, still angered that the Hiruma had failed to protect the land so long ago. As Todori crouched in a thick bush and ignored the brambles scraping at his arms and legs, he tried not to think about that.

On one horizon, Todori saw the defiant spire of Hiruma Castle, rising against the wasteland. On the other, he saw endless pinpoints of light. Campfires. Of all the things that stalked in the darkness, the Hiruma had come to most hate those that carried the light. Bakemono, oni, and even most undead moved through the shadows with a preternatural awareness. They needed no light. Only one type of creature used fire to guide its way through the Shadowlands – the Lost.

The Lost were human, once. Now they were something more. The Taint suffused their bodies, granting them supernatural strength, extraordinary agility, and a countless variety of other powers that varied by the individual. Worst of all, they were cunning opponents. While the demonic oni were often quite intelligent, they were also arrogant and domineering, enforcing their tactics with raw power and belligerence rather than careful planning. Most demons were so confident in their power that they underestimated human tactics, and could be defeated through proper preparation. The Lost, in contrast, possessed a samurai’s training. Their tactics complemented the raw power of other Shadowlands beasts, allowing them to turn the Crab’s own tactics against them.

The dream began to feel more familiar. One memory, of the countless Shadowlands attacks upon his home that Todori had survived in his lifetime, strove for attention. Quickly, Todori took a quick count of the torchlights, as he had that day not so long ago. The number was the same. The old scout quickly dropped from his tree, running along the road without a care that he might be seen. If this was a replay of the past, he had little time. He had to know the truth. He had to know if he could have made a difference.

Lord Masagaro had predicted that the Shadowlands might attempt an attack of this nature, and had gathered his finest scouts. That included Masagaro himself, who now waited with several samurai at a camp not far from here. Many daimyo would not risk their own lives for the security of their home when other, perhaps less capable, samurai stood ready to do so. Many daimyo were not Masagaro. Usually, the Hiruma lord’s courage worked to his advantage. Today, it would be his death – unless Todori could move swiftly enough to save him.

Todori could hear the sounds of combat. The last time, he had climbed cautiously from his tree and had not used the road, and arrived too late. This time would be different, he promised as he drew his katana from its saya. As he crested the hill, a horrible if familiar sight spread out before him. Small, camouflaged tents lay torn asunder. Crab samurai were strewn about the earth. Small, long-legged humanoids scurried from the shadows, red eyes burning and sharp teeth gleaming as they tore into the dead. Their bodies were red and slick, corded with muscle as if the flesh had been stripped away. They crouched on the chests of the fallen, digging like dogs to tear away armor and skin and suck at the blood and organs beneath. Others circled the survivors, looking for an opportunity to strike. Some new form of undead, crafted by the Bloodspeakers.

Only a few samurai still stood, fighting against the creatures. In the center of them stood Masagaro, hewing about with his katana. They were outnumbered three to one, with no idea what these new foes were capable of.

“Masagaro!” Todori shouted.

Masagaro glanced up from where he fought. A look of relief crossed the old daimyo’s weathered features. “Todori!” he shouted back. “Run!”

Todori hesitated for a long moment. The first time this had happened, he had not paused. He had turned toward Hiruma Castle and ran as swiftly as he could… and he had regretted his actions ever since.

Todori turned and ran again.

“So you have your answer,” said the mocking voice that had haunted his dreams. “You are a coward still.”

Todori gritted his teeth as he ran. “This is the way of the Crab,” he said in a low voice. “One man must survive to warn the rest. Shiro Hiruma depends on me.”

“Of course,” the voice replied. “A samurai does not fail those who depend on him.” A defiant shout resounded behind him, fading into a pained scream as Hiruma Masagaro was wrenched limb from limb.

Todori kept running.

“And now you are Lord of the Hiruma,” the voice said with a mocking laugh. “Congratulations, Hiruma Todori, and enjoy my gift…”

Todori awoke in the same position in which he had fallen asleep, albeit with a somewhat sorer neck. He looked down and noted with surprise that the cotton-wrapped sword now lay in his lap. He set it aside with a sigh just as the servant girl entered the room.

“Lord Kuon will see you now,” she said.

Todori gathered up the bundles and followed her. Lord Kuon awaited him on one of Kyuden Hida’s open balconies, overlooking the expanse of the Wall. Where Todori, like most of his family, was thin and lithe, Kuon was massive. Even dressed only in a formal kimono he towered above the grizzled scout. The Crab Champion’s gaze was locked on the southwestern horizon, as if he could see his clan’s enemies even from here. Though he was dressed informally Kuon yet wore his daisho at his hip. Todori knelt before his lord and waited to be acknowledged.

“The last time we met,” Kuon said in a low voice, “you told me that my brother promised us peace for a year and a day while we attended to the Bloodspeakers. Has he broken that promise?”

“No, my lord,” Todori replied. “Our scouts report that Kyofu and his Lost followers continue to stage guerilla attacks against the Bloodspeakers, but they have shown us no hostility.”

Kuon frowned, looking almost disappointed at the news. “You look as though you have come directly from battle,” he said. “I heard no reports that Kyuden Hiruma was attacked.”

“No, my lord,” Todori said grimly. “I have come directly from a personal quest into the Shadowlands,” he said. He laid the white-silk wrapped bundle on the floor between them. “I have recovered Masagaro’s daisho.”

“Well done,” Kuon replied. “They will be placed in Koten, where his tale will be told to all who guard the Wall. Yet that does not explain why you came here personally, or with such speed. Could not one of your scouts have delivered these blades?”

“They are not the only reason I have come,” Todori said, looking up at Kuon with an uncertain expression. “I have also come seeking your aid.” He set the other bundle beside Masagaro’s daisho, unwrapping it to reveal a strange katana. The hilt was a dull golden color, while the saya was a mixture of swirling indigoes and blues. He unsheathed the blade a few inches, just enough to reveal the kanji of ‘penance’ etched upon the steel. Masagaro felt a sensation of unease as he looked upon the weapon. From the look on Kuon’s features, the Crab lord shared his feeling.

“Where did you find that sword?” he asked.

“The dark tattooed man, Kokujin, left it during the attack on Shiro Hiruma,” Todori said. “He said it was a gift. The Kuni sensed no Taint on it, though it was obviously dangerous. It resisted our best efforts to destroy it, so we set it aside to solve its mystery another time. When I found Masagaro’s body, the creatures that had slain him guarded it still. They sensed me, and attacked. After I defeated them…” Todori was silent a long time. “I realized it was this sword that I wielded, even though we had left it sealed in Shiro Hiruma’s vaults.”

“So it is cursed,” Kuon said.

“It must be,” Todori said. “I cannot see the madman Kokujin giving me something so powerful without some unseen cost. Since it has come to me, I have begun having unsettling dreams, and I believe this sword is responsible. I wish to step down as lord of the Hiruma. I cannot lead my family, wondering when this curse will strike or what form it will take.”

“A valid fear,” Kuon replied, “Yet I am not certain that there is nothing that can be done. A Crab does not accept defeat so easily. We are the leaders of the Crab, we should be even more stubborn.” Kuon’s harsh features split in a slight smile, reminding Todori somewhat of his son.

“What must I do, my lord?” he asked.

“A mad Dragon’s magic forged this blade,” Kuon said, studying the cursed sword. “Perhaps another Dragon can undo its curse. Rest here tonight, Todori-san. Tomorrow you will take this Blade of Penance to the High House of Light.”

To Be Continued