The Unicorn provinces

Miya Shoin always enjoyed traveling through Unicorn lands. The vast, rolling plains were the perfect place to forget one’s concerns and enjoy the simple joys of riding. It was easy to see why the Unicorn had been so insistent on recovering their ancestral lands upon their return to Rokugan centuries ago. It was not the fertile farmland or the open spaces to tend their herds that they desired – it was the sheer majesty of this place. There was nowhere else in Rokugan quite like it. He loved the land here, and always found that his destination arrived far too quickly for his tastes. Duty was an impatient mistress.

Toshi no Aida Ni Kawa, the City Between the Rivers, appeared on the horizon and grew closer by the moment. As his journey drew toward completion, his concerns became more prominent in his mind. The Unicorn were his family’s neighbors, and though the clan had never been anything but gracious and friendly, Shoin never entered the court of a Moto without feeling a sense of unease. They were a strange family, tempestuous and laden with strange, gaijin customs. After years of experience with them Shoin felt he was prepared for almost anything, at least in terms of the face he presented to his hosts. His internal reservations would likely never go away. Of all those who dwelled in Rokugan, they were the least traditionally Rokugani family.

In today’s case, Shoin was to deliver a proclamation from the Emperor to the Unicorn Khan, Moto Chagatai. The proclamation was not an order to cease and desist his actions in the City of the Rich Frog, as Shoin had expected, but it was a rather sternly worded missive clearly detailing the Emperor’s displeasure at the lengthy conflict. He was uncertain how effective such an action would be against a man like Chagatai, but he knew better than to doubt his Emperor. Shoin had made a brief stop at Shiro Moto, but was turned away, assured that the Khan was not in residence. Instead, he had been directed to the City Between the Rivers. Whether or not Chagatai had been in the city any time in recent memory was debatable, but he was had little doubt that Chagatai would not be there when he arrived. The truth became clear – the Emperor knew Chagatai would simply avoid any message he sent, so he had not wasted time drafting an effective decree. One could hardly say the Emperor had done nothing, sending his official herald, but in the meantime he could seek a more effective means of ending the war.

Only a short time later, Shoin stood in the presence of Moto Turong, the city governor. Turong certainly looked the part of a traditional Moto warrior, a stocky man with dark complexion and blunt, craggy features. Experience had taught Shoin that his appearance was deceiving. Turong was a quiet, contemplative man possessed of an amazing intelligence and an even more amazing capacity for subtlety and guile when such were needed. “I am sorry to inform you that I no longer have the honor of hosting the Khan in my humble city,” Turong said. “He has moved on to supervise some matters of military concern. My family would be most honored to entertain you as a guest until such a time as he returns?”

“Of course,” Shoin said with a bow. “Could you please tell me where I might find him, Turong-san? I have a message to deliver.”

“Regrettably, I cannot,” Turong answered. “Given our current conflict with the Lion and, apparently, the Dragon, I am strictly prohibited from revealing the location of our military headquarters. I am under direct orders from the Khan.”

“And I represent the Emperor,” Shoin replied.

“True,” Shoin answered, “but our enemies might stop at nothing to determine the location of my lord’s camp. Perhaps they might even capture and interrogate the Imperial Herald. I cannot risk the safety of such an important dignitary in such a manner, my loyalty to Toturi III is too great. It would be irresponsible for me to give you such dangerous information, Shoin-sama. If you like, you may leave your message with me and I shall see that it is delivered.”

Shoin managed a smile despite the sigh he wanted to release instead. “I would be grateful for your assistance, Turong-san.” He had been subjected to similar treatment in the Lion lands, although the Dragon had been more than happy to admit him to Togashi Satsu’s presence. Of course, the one clan that would choose to listen would be the one the Emperor praised for their role in trying to pacify the area. “With your leave, my lord, I will return to Toshi Ranbo.”

“We would be grateful for your presence in our court, Shoin-sama,” Turong answered. “The Unicorn have great reverence and affection for the Miya and their services to Rokugan.”

Shoin frowned. It always disturbed him slightly how the Moto discussed the Empire, sounding almost as if their family stood apart from it even though they ruled one of the Great Clans. “I am expected back in Toshi Ranbo, but not for several days.” He considered his words for a moment. “I would be delighted to partake of your hospitality for a time, Turong-san. Your city is a jewel of the west. Perhaps we shall be fortunate and the Khan will return?”

Turong smiled warmly, clearly amused by Shoin’s suggestion. “Anything can happen, Shoin-sama.” He rose from his dais and gestured for Shoin to follow. “I had hoped you would be gracious enough to accept my offer, and have had quarters prepared for you.”

“You are too kind, Turong-san.”

“Nonsense,” the Moto returned. “Had you not accepted my initial offer, I thought I might convince you with the news that an old friend of yours is currently my guest as well.”

“Oh?” Shoin asked. “May I ask who?”

“The poet, Rezan,” Turong said with a smile. “There are few men in Rokugan who can truly enjoy all that a Moto court has to offer, but Rezan is certainly one of them.”

“I imagine so,” Shoin said with a smile.

Whatever else might be said of them, the Moto courts were always interesting. Not only were the Moto traditions somewhat foreign to outsiders, which in and of itself was sufficient to make visitors uncomfortable, but they engaged in them with a zeal that would cause even the most liberated soul reason to pause. An average evening’s festivities typically consisted of the Moto enjoying themselves tremendously with boisterous, even violent celebration and foreign visitors trying their best to stay out of harm’s way.

Rezan, ronin, poet, mercenary and hero, was the obvious exception. He was currently dancing in a circle with a band of Moto women, arms and legs flailing vigorously as they danced to wild music. The dance was clearly gaijin in origin, yet it had a graceful energy that Shoin could not deny. He was unsure what the Moto were celebrating. Perhaps they were celebrating nothing at all, but simply enjoying the glory of the dance.

Shoin had not seen the poet in a few years, but he looked exactly the same as he had nearly seven years ago. The two had spent a few months together in the company of other magistrates, seeking a murderer who hunted spirits who had returned through Oblivion’s Gate. Having returned through the Gate himself, Rezan had a marked interest in the investigation. Rezan was a strange man, a simple ronin who had returned to the land of the living during the Battle of Oblivion’s Gate and discovered to his amazement that he had become an underserved legend.

Though he was a talented poet in his own time, generations of more skilled individuals had ascribed their work to his name in the time since his death. Rezan was now regarded as the greatest poet Rokugan had ever known. Rezan could not bring himself to shatter the illusion, though he did so out of no sense of false pride. The name Rezan had come to mean something since his death; it had become a symbol that inspired others to create and allowed tortured artists to persevere. He allowed the Empire to live with the lie, the lie of a legend that had become greater than himself.

In the decades since, he had occupied himself in seeking out his love, who had vanished from Yomi shortly before Oblivion’s Gate had opened. He had never appreciated her during their life together or the subsequent centuries on the fields of Yomi, but after her reincarnation he had come to realize how important she was. While other spirits passed through the gate seeking to raise their swords in battle or take vengeance against the Empire, Rezan had returned for the simplest of reasons – to find his true love, and tell her how much she had meant to him. He saw shades of her beauty in each woman who walked the living Empire, and sought endlessly to find the one that might be her. Though he had cultivated a reputation as a hedonistic womanizer, Shoin knew how sad, lonely, and driven the poet truly was. Lost in the shadow of his own legend, endlessly seeking a love he had no way to find, he was perhaps the most tragic figure Shoin had ever met – and one of the truest friends he had known.

Despite the years, the two had corresponded regularly on matters both serious and trivial. Already tonight, they had enjoyed a long conversation, catching up on old times. Shoin had told his friend about his many experiences as the Righteous Emperor’s Imperial Herald, and Rezan had recounted numerous amusing tales of his most recent tour of the Empire, reciting his newest poems and even a play that had been seen in the lands of three Great Clans so far.

Shoin had excused himself from the revelries for a moment to catch his breath when he noticed the disturbance. Rezan, caught up in the celebration, did not seem to take note of what was going on. A guard entered the chamber quietly, accompanied by a man who appeared to be a scout or magistrate. They approached the guard captain, who in turn went to speak quickly to Turong. The governor listened, glanced over at the other two men, then immediately rose and left the chamber. The expression on his face told Shoin all he needed to know. Something was amiss.

Almost an hour later, a guard came to speak to Rezan, who had finally taken a seat to enjoy the last in a long series of cups of sake. “Hello, my friend!” Rezan boomed to the stoic guard. “What may I do for you?”

“Turong-sama needs to speak with you immediately in his private audience chamber,” the guard reiterated. “This is a matter of importance.”

“Bah,” Rezan waved the comment away, though the subtle change in his expression told Shoin that he had taken the guard’s words quite seriously. “Always so dour, you Moto. Very well. Come along, Shoin, let us see what old Turong has to say.”

The guard fixed Shoin with a withering gaze. “I was told to bring the poet. Not you.”

“Perhaps you haven’t noticed,” Rezan said in a lower tone, “but I may be slightly intoxicated. I am a man who recognizes his own limitations, and it would not do to insult the Khan’s chosen representative. Who better to help me maintain my composure and good behavior than the Emperor’s own herald? It would not to do dishonor myself if the Khan should suddenly arrive, eh?” Rezan winked.

“My instructions were specific,” the guard said coldly.

“Then allow Shoin to accompany me for your own sake, Moto,” Rezan said, his words suddenly no longer slurred, his movements suddenly calm and controlled. “I have reputation for being a violent drunk.”

The guard’s eyes narrowed, as if to take Rezan’s challenge. Something in the poet’s eyes, however, convinced him otherwise. Rezan’s legend described him as a great duelist as well as a poet, but that part of the legend was not undeserved. Shoin could measure the resolve wavering in the man’s eyes before he finally shrugged and gestured for both men to follow.

Turong’s private audience chamber was small, but well appointed. It was not as lavish as Shoin would have expected. He could not fully appreciate the room’s décor, however, as his attention was immediately drawn to the Dragon samurai who stood waiting patiently, flanked by two of the largest Moto he had ever seen. Shoin’s first thought was that the Dragon was in terrible danger in this place, perhaps a hostage, given his clan’s recent actions near the City of the Rich Frog. His second impulse was that the Hida family must cast their seed far and wide for two Moto of such ridiculous size to have been born.

“Rezan-san, Shoin-sama,” Turong offered a slight bow. Though his eyes lingered for a moment on Shoin, he did not seem surprised to see the herald present. His tone no longer carried the faint smugness it had in their previous meeting, suggesting that all pretenses had been abandoned. “This man’s name is Mirumoto Takeo, or so he claims. My men apprehended this spy near the border. He claims to be an Emerald Magistrate, and that he has an important delivery for the poet Rezan.” The Unicorn peered cautiously at the poet. “Perhaps you can offer some explanation?”

“I have no knowledge of this man or his mission,” Rezan said calmly. “If he is here to see me, I have no idea what it is regarding.”

“A fact I have already shared with Turong-sama,” the Dragon returned, his tone placid. He either did not recognize the danger he was in or did not fear any threats the Unicorn could offer. “He is skeptical.”

“Shoin-sama,” Turong said, ignoring the Dragon, “would you be so kind as to inspect this man’s Imperial seal and verify that it is authentic?” He handed over a small seal.

Shoin inspected the chop carefully. It was identical to the one he had once carried, save for a slight alteration to reflect the date and the Emperor this magistrate served. There were traces of wax where it had been used to seal messages, much like the one Turong was currently holding. Subtle striations wove through the design to confound forgers, designs that a Miya’s eye was trained to recognize. “This is genuine, Turong-sama. This man is an Emerald Magistrate.”

Turong frowned, clearly disappointed. He nodded to Shoin, who turned the seal back over to the Dragon, then turned to Rezan. “I am willing to permit this man to deliver his message, but only in my company, and then he will be escorted back to the Dragon border. If you have further business with this treacherous clan, Rezan-san, then I suggest you journey with him, and do not return to Moto lands.” With that, he held forth the scroll.

Rezan took the Dragon’s message, but his intense expression was fixed only on Turong. “I have told you that I do not know this man nor what business he has with me. While I bear the Dragon no ill will, I do not wish to become involved in this war. Out of respect for my host, I will gladly read this here, but I will not be spoken to in such a tone, governor.”

“Mind your tongue, ronin!” one of the guards barked.

“I have never shown the Unicorn anything but friendship,” Rezan said, his voice growing heated. “To treat me with such suspicion is an insult.”

“We must all remember we serve the same Emperor,” Shoin said in a cautious voice. “We each have our duty and must fulfill it, though it may put us at odds with one another. There is no need for hostility.”

Rezan glared at the Unicorn, but said nothing more. He quickly broke the seal and read the scroll. Halfway through it, his face fell. He looked up at the Dragon with wide, almost empty eyes. “Where did you get this, Takeo?” he rasped.

The Dragon looked uncomfortable with the question. “I will recount the tale of its retrieval if you wish it, Rezan-sama, but I warn you that it is unpleasant.”

“Tell me,” the poet demanded, the scroll crumpling slightly in his fist.

The Dragon nodded. “It was found in the belongings of a young woman named Mirumoto Sakura.”

“By the Fortunes,” Rezan said in a hollow voice. He stared at the wall with a glazed expression. “Can it be?”

“Rezan?” Shoin asked, looking at his friend in concern.

“It is a half finished letter to me, containing one of my poems,” Rezan said. “I composed it in the fields of Yomi, after my death. I never wrote it down, only spoke it once… yet I remember it vividly. These were the last words I spoke to my wife.”

Takeo continued. “As you may recall, your most recent play had been shown in our provinces several months ago. Apparently, the woman saw the play and was preparing that letter for you...” The Dragon’s face became grim.

“What happened to her, Takeo?” Rezan demanded.

“She was Lost in the Rain of Blood, Rezan-sama,” Takeo said, bowing his head. “She was last seen with a band of other corrupted souls, headed south toward the Shadowlands in the company of several Bloodspeakers. Dragon troops pursued, but were turned back at the Unicorn border.”

“How could this possibly be relevant?” Turong demanded. “Your clan finds some half-finished love letter from a gushing housewife and sees an opportunity to conduct espionage behind our lines, I think.”

“Turong,” Rezan said in an icy voice. “If you ever considered us friends, if you ever valued the lives of yourself and your men, I recommend you be quiet now.”

Turong’s eyes widened in surprise. The guards frowned at their lord and took a step forward, but a quick, serious gesture from Turong halted them.

“What has happened, Rezan?” Shoin asked, ignoring the Unicorn.

“It was her,” the poet said flatly. “The scroll fell absently from his hand. He turned and left without another word.

“What is this?” Turong demanded, seizing the scroll from where it fell. “Explain, Shoin-sama.”

“Since his return to the mortal world, Rezan has sought the reincarnated spirit of his wife,” Shoin said curtly. “Now it seems he has found her, but too late.”

“Lord Satsu knows Rezan’s story,” the Dragon added mournfully. “The Lord of Dragons wished Rezan to know, despite my risk in coming here.

“Mystic nonsense,” Turong replied, “Emerald Magistrate you may be, but I am not convinced that you do not have greater reasons for coming here, Takeo. You will remain until my men are satisfied that you have gathered no intelligence on the Khan’s armies during your time here.”

“I accept any interrogation you may offer,” Takeo said resolutely.

“And I do as well,” Shoin replied, directing a withering gaze at the Unicorn. “If you would interrogate one servant of the Emperor, you must do the same to us all. Are you prepared to torture the Righteous Emperor’s herald for your pride, Moto Turong?”

Turong frowned, but there was little he could do. “Fine,” he said, storming from the chambers. “You are free to go, Mirumoto Takeo. Be gone from here within the hour, both of you.” The guards gave Takeo and Shoin a long, suspicious look then followed their master.

“Domo arigato, Shoin-sama,” Takeo said, clearly relieved. He bowed deeply. “I pray you do not judge Turong-sama harshly. War makes villains of the best of us.”

Shoin returned the bow, surprised by the Dragon’s words. “Prepare to leave this place, Takeo-san,” Shoin said. “I must go to see to my friend.”

Shoin paused before Rezan’s quarters, listening for a moment. He wished to speak to his old friend, but had no desire to interrupt the poet’s solitude. He could only imagine how difficult this was for him. Shoin waited, but heard only a slight rustling now and again. He reached out and rapped sharply on the frame beside the shoji screen. There was a pause, and then a voice from within.

“Enter.”

Shoin slid the door open and stepped inside the lavish chambers Rezan had been assigned upon his arrival. “Greetings, old friend,” he said with a slight smile. “I hope you do not mind my intrusion, but I wanted to see how you were faring. Your mood was… uncharacteristic earlier. I thought that…” Shoin’s sentence died on his lips as he stopped short, gaping at Rezan.

The poet raised an eyebrow at the herald and smiled. He rubbed one hand over his freshly shaven head. “You don’t care for my new look, Shoin-san?”

“It becomes you,” Shoin stammered. He struggled for a moment. “Yet I fear I was right to be concerned,” he said finally. “You are planning to enter a monastery?”

Rezan’s expression grew solemn. “A monastery? Of sorts.”

“Rezan,” Shoin began, “I understand the grief you must feel at… at the news you received earlier, but surely your premature retirement will not solve anything. How will this benefit you? Do you hope to find solace in the Tao?”

“No,” the poet answered. “Quite the opposite, in fact. It was the Fortunes who sent her back here, was it not? Her soul was safe on the fields of the ancestors… and now it is damned.”

“What are you planning to do, Rezan?” Shoin demanded.

Rezan said nothing for quite some time, instead sorting through his personal effects and placing certain objects in a furoshiki. Some items he set aside absently, letting them fall to the floor, forgotten. “What have I told you of Oblivion’s Gate, Shoin?” he finally asked.

“The great battle in the Shadowlands,” Shoin answered. “Thousands of spirits returned through the gate to aid Toturi’s forces. You returned to the living that day… my father… Emperor, Toturi of course, and the Steel Chrysanthemum. The return of so many with their own agenda led to the War of Spirits and-”

“No,” Rezan cut him off. “I do not mean the battle.” He smiled briefly. “But then what did I expect from a Miya if not a history lesson? No, do you know anything of the Gate itself?”

The herald frowned. “There have been theories, of course, but no one has ever determined exactly what the gate was, or how it functioned. Why do you ask?”

“My somewhat unique circumstances gave me a bit more motivation to learn the truth,” Rezan explained. “I returned to the Gate five years ago, to satisfy my own curiosity.”

“To Volturnum?” Shoin exclaimed. “You traveled to the heart of the Shadowlands? Alone?”

“It was easier than you might think,” Rezan said with a slight shrug. “A lone traveler can easily escape attention in the Shadowlands, if he is careful. No one bothered me, and a lady friend among the Crab gave me the jade I needed to survive.”

“What did you discover?”

“It’s actually quite interesting,” Rezan explained. “I met Toryu, the Dark Oracle of the Void, if you can believe that. I expected to die, but he seemed to bear no malice toward me. He said that he had been expecting my return, and that I was owed the true answer to any single question I could ask.”

“Surely you asked the identity of your true love,” Shoin replied.

“No,” Rezan said. “I did not. Perhaps after seeking for so long, I did not wish to gain the truth so easily. Now… now I fear that I denied my own destiny. It is my fault that she is Lost. I could have saved her, Shoin, and I think the Dark Oracle knew.”

“What did you ask him, then?” Shoin asked.

“I asked him the true purpose of Oblivion’s Gate,” Rezan said. “Why would anyone build a gateway that destroys the boundaries between life and death? Why make a doorway that washes away death, that denies the very purpose of living? The War of Spirits taught us that we live and die for a reason – so that our existence will have meaning. Who would have built something so horrible, something that would deny that meaning entirely? Why would such a thing exist? That was my question.” Rezan paused for a long time. “It came as no surprise, but the Gate was never meant to be used as Goju Adorai used it. The creatures that constructed Volturnum were trolls, but not the savage brutes we know today. The trolls were once civilized beings with an advanced talent for magic. They constructed the gate to explore the spirit realms beyond Ningen-do, much as the ancient Kitsu supposedly did. It seems they were explorers as well as scholars.”

“A great tragedy that such brilliant scholars became the beasts that Fu Leng made them, then,” Shoin replied.

“Perhaps,” Rezan answered. “Yet the Oracle claimed that the trolls kept their magic after Fu Leng fell, and it was Hida Osano-Wo’s vengeance that drove them to savagery. Would that not be ironic, that it was a hero and not the dark god who destroyed such brilliance? I should write a poem.”

“Irony?” Shoin said, beginning to grow a bit uneasy at the poet’s dark cynicism. “Tragedy is what I would call such a thing. The trolls had become servants of darkness, Osano-Wo did what was required – if the tale is even true. Consider your source.”

“I am no fool, Shoin,” Rezan said. “For five years I doubted the Oracle’s words… but he told me something else about the Gate. As you know, it had the power to resurrect the dead, to grant them flesh once more, along with a longevity and strength greater than mortal men. This power, too, had a purpose. In times of need, the trolls would bring forth a single hero through the gate – no more, no less. This hero always held the best interests of his people at heart, and when his time was done he returned through the gate to the realms where his true destiny lay.”

“Why are we discussing this?” Shoin asked. “What relevance does this have to your… your decision?”

“Goju Adorai and the Lying Darkness opened Oblivion’s Gate as part of a plan to destroy Rokugan,” Rezan said. “At the time, we thought that they intended to invade the Realm of Ancestors, to wipe out all who had ever existed. We were wrong – such was never their intent. Goju Adorai died, Shoin, but the Lying Darkness won.”

Shoin looked at Rezan. He felt afraid of his friend now, though he was not sure why.

“The Gate allowed thousands of dead heroes to return to Rokugan,” Rezan said, “but then Isawa Hochiu destroyed the gate, and we were trapped here. Spirits are not meant to return to the mortal world without reason. There is an order to all things, and that order was disrupted. The War of Spirits left wounds that will never heal. While Iuchiban rises in the south the two clans most suited to defeat him, Dragon and Phoenix, are the most bitter of enemies. The Rain of Blood came and we were not ready because the dead turned the living against one another. Perhaps if Hochiu had not defeated Adorai the Empire might have been delivered a savage wound and died that day, but the poison that the Gate spat into Rokugan’s heart is no less fatal, I fear.”

Shoin shook his head. “Your grief blinds you, Rezan,” Shoin said. “For every Steel Chrysanthemum who returned there was a Toturi.”

“The troll beliefs were very clear,” Rezan said. “Even the greatest returned hero will bring nothing but misery if he does not know his place. What happened when Toturi died? Your father knew the truth, I think. That is why he sacrificed himself to the Chrysanthemum’s soldiers.”

“What is your point, Rezan?” Shoin snapped.

“The point is that being robbed of one’s destiny is the greatest tragedy of all. I finally understand that, because mine has been taken from me.” He paused for a moment. “But in a world where life and death no longer have meaning, perhaps it is not beyond my ability to steal that destiny back.”

“Rezan,” Shoin said, “you aren’t making any sense. Tell me what’s happening.”

“You already know,” the poet replied, “you just prefer not to admit the truth.” He closed his furoshiki and slung it over one shoulder. “Where I am going, Shoin, you should not follow.”

A cold feeling of dread passed through Shoin. “You are going after her,” Shoin said. “To end her treachery? To bring her spirit peace?”

Rezan shook his head. “I have caused her more pain than should ever be allowed already. All I can do is avenge her. I must fight Iuchiban… and I fear there is only one man in the Empire who can still do that.”

“Who?” Shoin demanded. “Daigotsu? He is dead. Even if he survived the Winds, Iuchiban would certainly have destroyed him.”

“Perhaps, and perhaps not,” Rezan said. “There are rumors among the Moto that he survived, and lives in exile beyond Rokugan. We shall see if such is true.”

“Don’t do this,” Shoin whispered.

Rezan looked at Shoin with a sad smile. “I will miss you, my friend. Please tell Chieh… tell her I that I thought well of her, and that I said goodbye.”

Shoin moved between the poet and the door. “I cannot allow this.”

“You cannot stop me,” Rezan answered.

“You are a hero!” Shoin insisted.

“The name Rezan is a hero,” he said. “I am just a man.”

Shoin’s hand moved shakily to the hilt of his blade. “I am a servant of the Emperor. I will not permit you to surrender yourself to Daigotsu. You would be…” his voice cracked, and he paused for a moment to gain his composure. “You would be too great a threat.”

“Do not make me kill you, my friend,” Rezan said in a quiet, still voice.

“I cannot stand aside,” Shoin whispered. “My duty…”

“Duty?” the poet asked. “And you always follow your duty, do you not?”

“Always.”

“Fascinating,” Rezan replied. “What about when Kijuro died?”

Shoin’s mind raced for a moment, his memories of the valiant Ox samurai coming to the fore. “What does Kijuro have to do with this?”

“His death was curious,” Rezan explained. “The wrist of his sword hand bore a small tattoo, a symbol I thought I recognized, but in his fight with Gusai it was somehow burned away. None spoke of it since. How do you suppose that happened?”

Shoin paled and said nothing.

“And our friend Akemi?” Rezan continued. “Who vanished after the investigation?”

Shoin’s eyes narrowed. “What of her?”

Rezan frowned. “Do not play games with me, Miya. There was never a Toritaka Akemi. I have written enough bad plays to recognize an excellent actor when I see one. Akemi was no Crab. You suspected, but said nothing. But then she deserved better too, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” agreed Shoin. “But this is different.”

“It is not,” Rezan insisted. “Our paths have diverged, Shoin. Do not stand in mine, for the sake of the friendship we once had. You know how that will end.”

Shoin cast his eyes down and said nothing. His hand slowly moved away from his blade. He felt Rezan step forward, closer, and then embraced him roughly, like a brother. Shoin stiffened at the close contact, but felt his eyes grow cloudy with an overwhelming sense of grief. When the poet released him, he felt only emptiness. He did not look up as the footsteps moved away, into the hallway and gradually faded from his hearing.

“I will remember you as you were,” Shoin said.

Rezan paused, looking over his shoulder. “Arigato, my friend,” he said in a thick voice.

“Goodbye, brother,” Shoin said to the empty room.