The War of Fire & Thunder, Part 1

By Shawn Carman

Near the Phoenix coast, four days ago

Shiba Shinsaku was careful not to release the tension on his bowstring. He kept it in a constant state of readiness, prepared to fire at the moment an enemy revealed himself. This particular region of the Agasha provinces had seen the fiercest fighting of the entire war, and had only been reclaimed from advance Mantis forces two days ago. Tsuruchi archers had been harrying Shiba forces throughout the area. Shinsaku’s patrol was merely one of several sent in with shugenja support to attempt to drive out the remaining Tsuruchi. If successful, the Shiba forces could move forward and secure the area, driving the Mantis even farther back toward the sea.

Agasha Fumihiro made a frustrated sighing noise somewhere behind Shinsaku. The yojimbo-turned-officer glanced back over his shoulder irritably. The shugenja had lost a brother in the war thus far, and was hungry for revenge. Shinsaku appreciated the power the shugenja could bring to bear if the Mantis did appear, but a man bent on vengeance was a liability he could not afford. Vengeance got men killed.

There was a noise from a stone outcropping not far away. Shinsaku dropped to one knee instantly, and his men followed suit. He held his bow at the hip, prepared to fire if a target appeared. He cursed inwardly, for his men were in an exposed position. If there was fighting, it would go poorly. He caught the eye of one of his men and nodded forward. The man, a veteran, nodded in return and moved forward very slowly. The scout drew his blades and, upon reaching the stones, took three running steps and leapt over the stones.

There was shouting and the clash of steel on steel. Shinsaku stood and tried to draw a bead on the forms fighting among the rocks, but it was impossible to tell friend from foe, and unlikely to hit either. It seemed that the scout was fighting two Yoritomo soldiers, barely holding them at bay with a complex defensive stance. It made no sense for only two men to be nearby, however…

With one fluid motion, Shinsaku turned and fired behind him. He did not see his target, but the arrow knew the way. Ironic, considering that his target was a Tsuruchi archer. The man cursed and his shot when wild, firing randomly into the sky without effect. The others, however, were not so distracted. Their archery fire cut down several of his men, and a half dozen Yoritomo shouted their belligerent battle cry as they charged his unit.

The wounded Tsuruchi shouted for the men to take the shugenja first, and the soldiers veered in Fumihiro’s direction, redoubling their speed as the charged, desperate to stop him from completing his spell. The shugenja was shouting a prayer, a ball of fire forming between his hands, rapidly growing as he drew back to hurl it at his hated enemies.

Shinsaku fired again and again, felling two more archers in rapid succession. He shouted for his men to return fire, but in his heart he knew it was already too late. Three arrows struck Fumihiro. Two in the shoulder, and one in the throat. The shugenja died with an expression of frustrated rage.

The ball of fire hung in the air only a moment longer, its boundaries shifting and deforming as Fumihiro’s life faded away. Shinsaku shouted for his men to run, to get away. He turned and raced away as the sphere descended to the ground, suddenly a prisoner of gravity. He heard the wooshing sound as it struck the ground and the fire exploded outward, consuming the air. He heard the quickly silenced cries as the fire washed over both his men and the Yoritomo.

And then the fire washed over him as well, consuming everything in its path.

Kyuden Isawa, two days ago

The corridors beneath Kyuden Isawa were narrow, carefully hewn from the stone itself in a tremendous feat of magic that would require precision virtually unknown in this era. Shiba Yoma had spent a great deal of time within the uncomfortably cool, silent passageways, and they had long since ceased to bother him. He barely noticed the two sentries who always stood outside the Chamber of the Elemental Council. Their faces changed periodically, but nothing else ever did. Their armor, their weapons, their stances… they were identical in every respect to the others that had occupied their posts on previous visits. No, there was nothing to be done but to wait until the Masters had finished conferring, and then he would be instructed in carrying out their wishes.

The doors to the chamber opened suddenly, startling Yoma. He stepped forward instantly, marveling at the extremely short time he had been waiting. If he were fortunate, it might mean the Masters had quickly reached a consensus and were ready to take action. If he, and indeed the entire clan, were unfortunate, they had already reached a stalemate and were adjourning their conference for the moment. The latter instance had happened far too often in recent months, in Yoma’s opinion.

“Yoma-san,” a voice said. “Enter please. Quickly”

Yoma did as commanded, entering the chamber instantly. The doors slid closed silently behind him. “Thank you, Master Nakamuro-sama.”

The Master of Air nodded. “Stand there,” Isawa Nakamuro said, gesturing to the wall next to the doors. “Do not speak unless asked a question.”

Yoma blinked in surprise. “You have not yet conferred?” he asked incredulously. “You… you wish me to be in attendance?”

“A questionable decision,” Isawa Sachi said. The Master of Earth stirred irritably in his seat, his baleful glare unmistakable. “I am uncomfortable with the breach of tradition, but apparently I am outvoted in this instance.”

“Sachi-sensei,” the slightly built young woman said. “Please, now is not the time.” She glanced at the two empty seats. “Where is Master Ningen?”

“An excellent question!” Sachi said irritably. “He appears and disappears at his whim, as if there were nothing amiss at all. It was a mistake to offer a Shiba a place on this Council. He does not appreciate the gravity of his responsibilities.”

“It is exactly that manner of thinking that has crippled the effectiveness of this Council for generations,” Nakamuro said quietly, an edge to his voice. “The presumption that somehow we Isawa are inherently more aware of what it means to be Phoenix, to comprehend magic, to make decisions that influence the lives of others on a grand scale, is the worst kind of hubris.”

“It is the duty of this Council to lead the Phoenix,” Sachi insisted.

“Lead, yes,” Nakamuro countered, “but lead responsibly. We are failing in that responsibility.”

“I fail to see how,” Sachi said with a wave.

“Please,” the young woman said. “Can we not retread an old argument?”

“No, Ochiai,” the Master of Air insisted. “This is what must be done if we are to help our kinsmen. How many are dead now, Yoma?”

“We do not have an accurate number,” Yoma said quietly. “Thousands.”

“Thousands dead in the Agasha and Shiba lands,” Nakamuro said. “How many dead here, in the Isawa provinces?”

“We have discussed this, brother,” Ochiai said.

“How many?” Nakamuro demanded again, striking the great stone table with his open palm.

“None,” Sachi said flatly. “The Isawa lands remain secure. When the Mantis do come, then we will strike with our full might and finish the war once and for all.”

“A grand idea,” Nakamuro countered, “and one I truly hope works. But while we wait, our cousins die by the score. Yoritomo Kumiko will harass our defenses until there is no one left to come to our aid when the Isawa coastline does come under attack.”

“We will need no aid,” Sachi said.

“Good!” Nakamuro said, leaping to his feet. “Because when the time comes, the few who are able will be unwilling to aid us!”

The chamber grew silent for several long moments. It seemed to Yoma to last for days. “I understand that you are passionate about our disagreements,” Sachi finally said. “But I caution you to maintain a respectful attitude. I will not brook such insolence from a former student.”

“I have been respectful for months,” Nakamuro said. “What has it accomplished? You and Akiko have paid me no attention whatsoever.”

“Do not speak her name,” Sachi said sharply.

“Brother,” Ochiai said softly, “please understand. I know, we all know, the burden our cousins are enduring right now. But as Sachi says, if we bait the Mantis only a little longer, they will be drawn into attacking us, and then the war will be ended. Is it not better to endure losses now to prevent greater losses in the future? When the war is ended, I promise you that there will be nothing spared to restore what has been lost.”

Sachi chuckled. “I find your words encouraging, yet amusing, little blossom,” he said. “You who would not destroy a single Mantis vessel to save the lives of hundreds? Forgive me, but you are hardly qualified to speak of acceptable losses.”

Ochiai’s normally bright expression darkened. “Losses in war cannot be avoided,” she said, “but I will not take a life. I cannot help lead the Phoenix if I have lost myself.”

Sachi frowned and stroked his beard. “Once again, might I suggest that I summon Aikune from his place of seclusion? He could turn the tide, and quickly, without endangering the Isawa lands.”

“The Last Wish should never have been used as a weapon in the first place,” Ochiai said with surprising vehemence. “To willfully use it as such, knowing full well what consequences we might face… the very idea is blasphemous!”

“Aikune will return when he is ready,” Nakamuro said. “To summon him before that time is a greater risk to the Phoenix than this war will ever be.”

Sachi rose. “Then there is little else we can accomplish here today. Unless Ningen returns and sides with you, Nakamuro, then the Council’s decision remains.” With that, the Master of Earth strode calmly from the room and disappeared into the passageway behind.

“How can he be so obtuse?” Nakamuro said quietly, his hands spread on the great stone table. “Can he not see what is happening?”

“He is the Master of Earth,” Ochiai said. “His is an unchanging path, just as those before him, with few exceptions. He is following the ways that have allowed the Phoenix to survive for over a thousand years. It is all that he knows to do. Surely you cannot question his devotion?”

“No, merely his judgment.” Nakamuro glanced at his younger sister. “And perhaps yours as well.”

Ochiai’s expression grew darker still. “If your proposal for me to join this Council was made in hopes that I would blindly follow your lead, then you will find yourself sorely disappointed time and time again,” she said, storming after Sachi.

Nakamuro covered his face with his hands wearily. “The entire world has gone mad,” he said with a disgusted sigh. He looked up at the bewildered Yoma, almost as an afterthought. “Yoma-san, where will you go after you leave here?”

“Mirabu-sama’s command post, Master Nakamuro,” Yoma answered.

Nakamuro nodded. “I have an ally there. I want you to relay exactly what happened here to him, and only to him. None other is to know what took place in this chamber. Do you understand?”

Yoma bowed sharply. “Of course, Nakamuro-sama. How will I know your ally?”

A wry smile appeared on Nakamuro’s face. “He is rather difficult to overlook,” he began.

The Shiba command post, Agasha provinces, yesterday

The Phoenix Champion removed his helmet and dropped it unceremoniously on the table before him. Several tightly rolled maps fell to the ground, knocked from the top of a precarious pile by the ornate adornments on the helm’s front. Shiba Mirabu rubbed red, bleary eyes with one hand while bracing himself against the table with the other. He expected the news to be dire. “How many?” he finally asked.

“Shiba Shinsaku and seven of his patrol,” the Asako replied. “Two more are injured, but will recover. Agasha Fumihiro had accompanied the patrol. He did not survive.”

“Essentially an entire patrol,” Mirabu said. “Enemy casualties?”

“Unknown,” the Asako said. “The survivors claim at least half the enemy dead, possibly including a gunso, but the Mantis did not leave anyone behind.”

“Of course not,” Mirabu said. “They would not do such a thing any more than we would.” He placed both hands on the table and stared blankly at the map. “When will the survivors be ready to be reassigned?”

The healer looked down. “Two weeks at the soonest, my lord.”

Mirabu closed his eyes and nodded. “Thank you,” he said. “You may return to your work. Save as many of our brothers as you can. Your work here is far more important than mine.”

The Asako bowed deeply. “Thank you, Mirabu-sama.”

The man left the tent, and Mirabu seemed to deflate. He sat heavily on a flimsy stool, the wood creaking uncomfortably as he did so. “We cannot continue to suffer such losses.”

“The Mantis suffer as well,” the other man in the tent said. He brushed his mustache absently. “They lose men in every engagement. Perhaps not as many as us, but they do not have so many troops as we do in the first place. Their attacking force is smaller and faster than our defenders.”

“We fight to defend our lands, Naoya,” Mirabu said to his brother. “We fight for home and family, and yet their zeal seems so much greater. How can that be?”

“They have been accused of a terrible thing,” Naoya answered with a shrug. “They claim they did not do it, of course, as anyone guilty of such an act would. Still, I have to wonder.”

Mirabu frowned. “It is curious, I admit. But an entire village destroyed? It is not an act we can allow to go unpunished.”

“You assume that the Mantis are responsible,” a voice from the tent entrance said. “Truthfully, the evidence to suggest such a thing is specious at best, wouldn’t you say?”

Mirabu and Naoya turned to the newcomer. He was slight of build, wearing heavy robes, with an extremely pale countenance. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing of consequence,” the man said with a grim expression. “Regardless of the impetus behind this war, we are well beyond the point where we could simply call things off, aren’t we? Sadly, it seems so. Blood demands blood, or so they say.”

“Have we met before?” Mirabu asked politely, his tone somewhat strained. “I do not recall sending for anyone to join my war council.”

“No,” the stranger admitted, “but my associate Isawa Nakamuro suggested I pay you a visit and offer my expertise.”

“Your expertise?”

“Yes,” the man said with a smile. “I know a little something of Mantis tactics.”

“Mantis tactics?” Naoya said incredulously. “Who are you?”

“Of course, how rude of me.” The strange man bowed deeply. “I am Asako Bairei, head priest of the shrine to Lady Moon. Please forgive my rudeness Sometimes I get so caught up in what I am discussing that I forget myself.”

“What do you know of Mantis tactics?” Mirabu asked.

“I know that there are extensive records detailing the Mantis Clan’s assault on Phoenix provinces years ago, and their conflicts in the Crane lands as well. Somewhat less available documents suggest that there was a sizeable Mantis navy present at the Battle of White Stag.”

“I have studied the accounts of the previous Mantis attack in depth,” Mirabu said.

“Yes, and they are quite fascinating,” Bairei agreed. “However, if you study the three different military engagements separately, one begins to see a sort of pattern emerge, particularly in light of the recent unpleasantness.”

“Unpleasantness?” Naoya said, his mouth agape.

“Indeed!” Bairei said. He gestured to the table covered in maps of the entire region. “May I?”

Mirabu glanced at his brother and frowned. Nakamuro was his staunchest ally among the Isawa. That the Masters had not yet taken action was a clear sign that their family was as yet unprepared to commit their resources. Still, Nakamuro would not have sent the scholar if there was not good reason. “Please,” he said, gesturing to the table. “Be my guest.”

“Excellent,” Bairei said with a delighted smile. “I think you will find this as fascinating as I have.”

The northern Agasha coastline, today

Five Phoenix warriors crouched unmoving among the stones near the shore. They were lightly armed and armored, and had been chosen for their speed and stealth. None of them had moved throughout the morning, and the only noise was the occasional whisper passed between them as they watched the horizon for Mantis vessels.

Shiba Bunjaku drew in a deep breath as the cool sea breeze washed over the stones where her men were stationed. They had remained hidden along the same stretch of coast for over a week now, and were due to return to the command post in two days’ time. Truthfully, although the effect of remaining motionless for so long during the day was difficult on the body, she would miss the duty somewhat. Bunjaku had spent years patrolling the massive Isawa forests. She had been resentful of her post being moved to the coast, but had embraced her duty as all samurai must. She had not expected the majesty of the sea to affect her so deeply. Some part of her would always miss this place once she returned home.

“Bunjaku-sama,” one of her scouts whispered, drawing her attention. She followed his gaze to the southeast, staring at the empty expanse of ocean visible between the silhouettes of two small islands off the coastline. She said nothing, frowning and searching for whatever might have drawn the scout’s attention.

Then she saw it. Tiny specks on the horizon. Dozens of them. “Shinsei guide us,” she muttered under her breath.

“What is it, gunso?” one of the men asked.

“You three,” she said, pointing to a trio of her men, “return to the command post immediately. Tell them we need reinforcements, and quickly.”

“What is it?” the scout repeated.

“The entire Mantis fleet,” Bunjaku said grimly. “They’ve come for us at last.”

TO BE CONTINUED