A series of vignettes from around the Emerald Empire.
Scenes from the Empire
By Rusty Priske, Nancy Sauer, & Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan
Yoritomo Tadame rubbed his chin thoughtfully as he looked upon the Temple of Kaze-no-Kami. Supplicants made a rag-tag line out of the front entrance of the temple. There were over a dozen people waiting outside, with more within.
Kimogen answered the question that Tadame had not yet spoken. “Since Shumai became the head of the temple, it has grown in prestige and notoriety. He regularly gets more prospective monks than he can accommodate.”
Tadame, used to his mentor’s ability to read what he would say before he said it, replied, “but this many? How does he have time to service the temple?”
Kimogen smiled. “It is not normally this many, but I think word has gotten out that the temple has visitors just now. Many would relish the opportunity to meet two former Mantis champions at one time.” Kimogen noted the surprise on Tadame’s face and grinned. “Oh, didn‘t I tell you that Tanari would be here?”
Tadame’s smile started to match Kimogen’s. “No, you did not.”
“It must have slipped my mind. Now, I think you should wait out here for the moment. They are obviously quite busy inside and I will see if we can schedule some time with Tanari and Shumai.”
“As you wish, brother. I will find something to occupy my time.”
“You should-should not feel so down, friend-friend.” Tadame saw something that would cause most to be taken aback, but the site of a Nezumi, clad in the robes of a monk, did not have that effect on him. Tadame had never met K’mee, but she was well known amongst the orders. Once he knew that Tanari was here, it was no longer surprising for her to be present as well.
She was speaking in a soothing voice to a non-descript samurai who looked quite dejected. “Why should-should you be unhappy, young Funaba?”
“I was rejected, Brother K’mee. I pledged my life to the temple and was told that my services were not required. I didn’t even know that could happen.”
K’mee nodded gently. “Yes-yes. Sometimes there are more people who wish to serve a temple than there are jobs or is room. The Temple of Kaze-no-Kami is quite popular and many wish-wish to serve here.” She gestured to the people waiting outside, including Tadame, “as you can see. Brother Shumai must make-make decisions about who would best-best serve his temple.”
Funaba looked at her, with pain in his eyes. “Yes, and I was judged not as worthy as these others.” He looked at Tadame, who was keeping a respectful distance, but clearly listening. “What can I expect? I am simply a ronin. I can never expect to be chosen over a great Mantis samurai here in their lands.”
Tadame stepped forward. “I am not here as an applicant, friend. My duties are already spoken for.”
Funaba bowed deeply to the Mantis samurai, who returned his bow. “My apologies, Yoritomo-sama. I meant no disrespect.”
“None taken, Funaba, was it?” At the ronin’s nod, Tadame continued. “Being mistaken for one who wishes to serve Kaze-no-Kami is not something I would ever think of as disrespect.”
“What of one who wished to serve and was rejected?”
K’mee waved her hand. “I think-think you misunderstand, Funaba-san. You have not been rejected; you have been given a great-great gift.” Funaba looked puzzled and the little Nezumi continued. “There are many who try to find-find their place and never do. They live out their days following whatever path is laid-laid before them. You were about to make a big-big mistake and follow the wrong path. Shumai saved you from this mistake.”
Funaba looked at K’mee suspiciously and then over to Tadame, then back to K’mee. “I do not understand.”
“You carry a sword-sword.”
Funaba nodded. “I am still a samurai, even if only a ronin.”
“Why did you want-want to set it aside?”
“I have served, the best I knew how.” Funaba tapped his saya. “I have killed when I needed to kill, usually bandits. The local villages would ensure that I had food and lodging when I did that. Yet I never felt like I was accomplishing anything. Life should be more than wandering from village to village, with no purpose to your life. I have always thought my actions should mean more.”
K’mee tipped her head. “And what did-did your actions mean to those villagers? Did they feed you out of fear? Did they think you were worse-worse than the bandits, or that you were better?”
Funaba shrugged slightly. “Better. It was out of gratitude, I suppose.”
“To them you were-were a hero. What greater calling could-could there be?”
Tadame saw a realization pass across Funaba’s features and a light ignite behind his eyes. Before the conversation could continue, however, Kimogen emerged from the temple.
“Come, Tadame-san. Tanari has some time for us while Shumai is busy with the applicants.”
Tadame indicated he would follow and then turned back to Funaba and K’mee. “You should listen to this monk, samurai-san. She is very wise. Now, I must go inside, but it would please me a great deal if we could speak further. Will you stay in the area until I return?”
Funaba’s face showed some surprise as he bowed and said, “I would be honored, Yoritomo-sama.”
Tadame returned the bow and then bowed to K’mee before turning and following Kimogen.
Yoritomo Tadame followed Kimogen into a private chamber away from the main temple area. Where Tadame expected a waiting chamber, it seemed instead to be a private room belonging to Shumai. It was clearly decorated by a former Mantis samurai, as green was a dominant color, and there were mementoes of his previous life displayed throughout.
Inside, waiting for their arrival, was Tanari, once known as Tsuruchi, and the current head of the Brotherhood of Shinsei. Tadame bowed deeply.
“Please, Yoritomo-san, we are all brothers here. Have a seat, both of you. Shumai has been kind enough to provide some refreshments. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
Kimogen sat first, and Tadame followed. Kimogen said, “We thank you for your hospitality, Brother Tanari. You are very gracious.”
Tanari waved away the thanks. “It is Shumai. I am merely visiting as well, though I must admit feeling comfortable here. This was once my private chamber before I left the temple for my current duties.”
Kimogen raised his cup. “Duties that serve all of Rokugan, Brother Tanari. We are all better for your presence.”
Tanari nodded his head to the compliment then said, “So, what brings you to this temple, Brother Kimogen? Were you planning on changing orders?”
Kimogen smiled at Tanari’s jest. “As worthy as the temple is, I am happy with the Order of Heroes, Brother Tanari. No, I came because I had heard you were here and I thought it would serve Tadame well to meet two people he would surely recognize as heroes.”
“I thank you for the compliment and I look forward to the opportunity to sit down for a long discussion, Tadame-san.”
Tadame bowed his head. “The great honor would be mine.”
Kimogen nodded in the direction of the main temple area. “I hope that Shumai will also be so disposed after his busy day.”
Tanari smiled. “Sometimes I miss my duties here. Sometime I do not.”
Kimogen nodded. “So what brings you here, Brother Tanari? That is, if it is not a private matter. Just visiting your former temple?”
“Somewhat, but also I wanted to bring K’mee. She has come a very long way in the time she has been with me. She has an amazing grasp on the world around her and how to find a person’s true calling in life. I feel I have taught her as much as a can and in many ways she has surpassed me. I came here looking for a place for her to continue her education, but now that I am here, I do not know if this is the right place for her.”
Tadame looked back to the door they came through and thought of the conversation outside. He turned back to Tanari. “Excuse me, Brother Tanari, but I know of an order where K’mee would be of great service…”
* * * * *
The headman’s house at Kibi Mura didn’t have so much as a single wall scroll and the draft was fierce, but it was the best house in the village. This didn’t stop Kakita Hideshi from thinking that it was entirely loathsome. He scanned the room once more, wincing at the poor state of the tatami mats. Asahina Beniha deserved far better, but there was nothing to be done for it. The countryside was apparently rife with plague victims and Scorpion intruders, so any travel had to be done as swiftly as possible. Beniha’s entourage had traveled as long as the daylight had lasted, and then sought shelter in the first village they came to.
“Hideshi-kun,” Beniha said, “what is that?” She pointed to a picture in the novel she was reading.
He bent down to study it, squinting slightly in the room’s poor lighting. “It is a crossbow,” he said.
“A crossbow?” Beniha said.
“It is a rather obscure weapon,” Hideshi said. “I have only seen it carried by a puppet in a performance of The Peach-Pit Boy.”
“Oh, I love that story. Have you ever seen the version done by the Chrysanthemum Fan troupe? It is my favorite; we should go see it the next time they are in Toshi Ranbo.” Beniha lifted her hand to turn the page, and when she laid it down the edge of her sleeve just slightly overlapped the edge of Hideshi’s sleeve.
“I would like that very much,” Hideshi said. His eyes traveled from their sleeves up to Beniha’s face; she was gazing down at the book with a slight smile on her lips. “Do you wish to retire soon, Beniha-chan? We will need to leave as early as possible in the morning.”
She looked over at him, her smile slightly wider. “Indeed, that would be wise. I–” she paused a moment, listening to something Hideshi couldn’t hear, and then the clang of a badly-made gong filled the night.
“Fire!” Hideshi exclaimed. He leaped to his feet and rushed towards the door, his swords already in his hands. When he reached the outside he glanced around the area. The small sake house across the road had smoke drifting out of it and there were flames lapping at one of the shuttered windows. Villagers carrying buckets and poles were rushing towards it, and the headman was already organizing them. Hideshi relaxed slightly. Fire was always dangerous, but there was no wind to carry the flames from one building to another and the villagers seemed to know their business. It was inconvenient, though–the other guards were bedding down there, and now they would have to find other arrangements.
“Kakita-san, something is wrong.” Hideshi looked over at the speaker. Daidoji Ryugo was standing his post at the door of the headman’s house, and he pointed towards the burning building with his sword. “None of the others have come out,” he continued.
“You are certain?” Hideshi said. “They could have gone out another direction.”
“They would have made their way over here by now,” Ryugo said. “And there is something else odd–there was a great deal of noise before the fire broke out, but it all died down. And there has been no noise at all since the fire-gong has sounded.”
Beniha joined them, one of her heavy kimono pulled on for warmth. “Hideshi-san,” she said, “look.” She pointed towards the doorway of the sake house, where some figures could be seen moving through the smoke. Hideshi’s first reaction was relief; finally the others were here. Then he frowned, noting the oddness of their motions.
“Hayaku’s voice,” Ryugo swore. “They are undead!”
The villagers did not notice at first. Then the figures were upon them, and the screaming began. Most of the villagers fled, but a few of the more courageous ones tried to rescue their neighbors by beating on the zombies with their firefighting tools. Ryugo made a hissing noise and started towards the fight.
“Stop! We must get Beniha-sama out of here!” Hideshi said.
“There’s no getting on a horse in this mess,” Ryugo yelled back. He cut down a zombie who was disemboweling the village headman with its bare hands.
Hideshi swore to himself, but Ryogo had a point. The Kakita drew his blade and ran to join the guard. The next few minutes were a nightmare of flame, darkness, and blood. Hideshi prided himself on his skills as a warrior, but the dead could not feel pain and were not slowed by blood-loss. As he landed a blow that put down one of the dead guards for the second time he began to feel the first tendrils of panic.
“Kakita!” Ryugo shouted in anguish, and Hideshi spun around towards him. Somehow the body of the village headman had locked its arms around Ryugo’s waist, and the pinned guard was now being overwhelmed by a crowd of undead. Hideshi took one step towards him and then stopped as something clenched around his ankle. Operating on slightly terrified instinct, Hideshi stomped hard on the thing holding him. There was the sound of cracking bones and then he staggered free.
Just as suddenly he was caught again, but this was different: the force seized his whole body and it came with the sound of the roaring wind. Hideshi found himself dropped on the ground near the headman’s house, and he watched in amazement as the bodies of the dead–Ryugo included– were hurled into the flames that engulfed the sake house. He realized he could hear the sound of chanting now, and he looked up to see Beniha standing next to him. She had her hands folded in an attitude of prayer, and after a moment her chant shifted in tone to become something he recognized: the prayers said over a funeral pyre.
Hideshi scrambled to his feet and pointed at a group of villagers who were cowering nearby. “You,” he commanded, “saddle two of our horses and bring them here.”
“But samurai-sama,” one of them said, “who will protect us if you go? There might be more of them.”
Hideshi ran his sword through the man’s throat, then kicked him off the blade. He pointed the dripping blade at the others. “Horses!” he said. They scrambled off to obey, not even bothering to stop and bow. Hideshi stopped and took a deep breath, willing strength into his body. Beniha was not safe yet, and he could not relax until she was.
“That is it,” Beniha said behind him. “The dead are now all at rest.”
Hideshi turned back to her, uncomfortably aware that she had saved his life. “Thank you,” he said.
Beniha made a dismissive motion. “I am not the holiest priestess my family ever produced, but I know what my duties are. The undead are an abomination to the Celestial Order.” She looked around. “What do we do now?”
“We get on our horses and leave as quickly as possible,” Hideshi said.
Beniha looked at him with an expression of confusion on her face. “But what of the village? What if there are there more undead lurking about?”
“My duty is to protect you, not them,” Hideshi said, “and you are worth a hundred of these stinking villages.” He gestured to the horses being led to them by two villagers. “Mount up.”
“It is not a question of my worth,” Beniha said. “I–”
“My lady,” Hideshi said quietly, “get on that horse.” His eyes locked on hers for a moment, and some of the color drained out of her face. “Now,” he said.
Beniha drew a shaking breath and then walked slowly to one of the horses. Hideshi helped her up and then swung onto the other. “We will run them as long as we can, to put distance behind us,” he said. She shrugged in reply, keeping her face away from him. Hideshi gritted his teeth as anger surged up. He was right, and she would admit it someday. For now, keeping her safe was all that mattered to him.
* * * * *
The old abbot smiled as he pushed the doors inward. “It is a tremendous honor to have such an illustrious visitor,” he said, clearly delighted. “I fear our monastery is off the beaten path, as they say, and we rarely have visitors more than once a month or so at the most.” His smile did not fade, but a look of confusion flickered across his features. “If I may ask, however… surely there were more thorough historical records available to you at other monasteries?”
“One would think,” the visitor said darkly. “However, the other libraries I investigated were all more heavily trafficked. I did not desire to be disturbed during my research.”
Confusion was now cemented on the old man’s face. “My lord, I cannot imagine anyone would dare interrupt the work of an agent of the throne! And one of your illustrious record!” He paused for a moment. “My lord, you have looked over your shoulder several times now. Is there something that concerns you?”
Seppun Tashime smiled, but it was not genuine. “My last visit to a monastery ended somewhat badly,” he said. “I am simply… being cautious.”
“I assure you, Seppun-sama, that no brother at this monastery would dare raise his hand against you. This is a place of contemplation.”
“Thank you, brother abbot,” Tashime said. “I find your reassurances comforting.” He gestured to the massive rack of scrolls where the abbot had stopped. “Are these the historical records I requested access to?”
The abbot bowed deeply. “They are. Do you require assistance, my lord?”
Tashime returned the gesture. “I do not, brother abbot, but I thank you for your offer. If I might be left alone, I will endeavor to disturb nothing else within your library.”
The abbot’s smile returned. “Very well, my lord. I will check back at mid-day and see if you require anything.” The monk retreated quietly while Tashime stared at the scrolls with a light sigh.
Some days it seemed that he had spent his entire life rooting around in libraries.
Tashime looked up several hours later, grimacing at the stiffness in his neck. He had been poring over the histories of the Brotherhood for many hours, and had lost track of time. The abbot was approaching with another of the brothers, this one bearing a tray that appeared to contain both tea and rice. There was a dull rumbling in Tashime’s stomach at the thought of food. The second monk was wearing a basket hat, which caused the magistrate’s eyes to narrow, but he did not grow concerned. At least, not yet.
“Greetings, honorable magistrate!” the abbot said cheerfully. “We have brought you something to sate your body while you seek to sate your mind. I hope it does not offend!”
“Not at all,” Tashime said, setting the scrolls aside. “I am very grateful. Thank you.”
The abbot smild and bowed, and glanced at the scrolls. “You have made tremendous progress,” he observed. “Tell me, have you found that which you see?”
“Partially,” Tashime said, stirring the tea. “It is a bit hotter than I am accustomed to drinking. I hope you are not offended if I permit it to cool for a moment.”
“Of course, of course,” the abbot said with a wave. “May I inquire what it is you are researching? I have no wish to be impolite, I am merely curious.”
“I would be happy to explain,” Tashime said, “if you would but explain your associate’s strange headgear. The basket hat is normally a traveling adornment.”
“Oh,” the abbot said. “Our brother here took a vow of anonymity in addition to his more traditional vows. I have not known him for long but I understand his was a position of some prominence in the Empire and he desires that it would not interfere with his search for enlightenment.”
“Ah,” Tashime said with a nod, then added, “Odd you would mention enlightenment. That has some bearing on what I seek.”
“You seek enlightenment, brother?” the abbot said, clearly excited.
“No,” Tashime corrected. “However, I am quite interested in the fallibility of those who do seek it.”
The abbot’s expression went completely blank. “My lord?”
“The perception of the Brotherhood is one of wise monks, in complete harmony with the universe itself and capable of perceiving the very spirits of those around them.” He shrugged. “There are many among your order like that, I will not deny it, but there are just as many who are as yet tied to worldly concerns that they are simple to deceive when told that which they want to hear.”
The abbot’s expression grew severe. “Are you implying that you have deceived me, my lord?”
“I am not,” Tashime said. “I am directly stating, however, that the Brotherhood has been deceived, and on a grandiose scale I would not have believed imaginable.”
“What do you mean?”
Tashime fixed the old man with a piercing stare. “Are you familiar with the Order of Venom?”
The old man frowned. “I am, to some extent. An order formed some years ago. They have adherents who are somewhat… atypical, but the Brotherhood is loathe to stifle the paths of others unless they endanger their spirits and those of others. The Order of Venom is quite militant, but they have remained in the background.”
“How pervasive is their presence?”
“Not very,” the abbot said. “Truthfully I do not know. Their members are few and far between. Perhaps two or three might be present at some of the largest temples and monasteries, but for the most part they are largely absent from the order’s day to day affairs.”
“I see,” Tashime said. “And the order’s founder?”
“I do not recall his name,” the abbot confessed. “As I remember it, he was a monk who had lost his way and returned to the fold only after having ventured too far. He created the order espousing the martial and militant philosophies that he claimed brought him back into harmony with the universe.”
“Do you not find the name odd?”
The abbot frowned. “I was told at one point that the founder survived the bite of a venomous serpent, and that it was the inspiration for his philosophy of growing stronger through exposure to deadly threats.”
“Perhaps,” Tashime mused. “I find it more likely that he was a weak-minded pretender that simply thought the name would inspire fear.”
“Magistrate!” the abbot said, clearly offended. “Please, maintain respect for elders of the Brotherhood?”
“Elder?” Tashime scoffed. “We speak of a fool and a weakling with a penchant for fabrication. Nothing more.”
The second monk was a blur of movement. Tashime had anticipated it, but the man’s speed still managed to catch him off-guard. The magistrate partially deflected the kick, but its sheer power drove him backward, nearly knocking over the shelves of scrolls and driving the breath from his lungs. “Brother!” the abbot shouted in a panicked, high-pitched voice. “What are you doing?!”
The basket hat had fallen away, revealing the cloth swaddling beneath it. The monk brought his hand down in a knife-hand strike that Tashime blocked at the man’s forearm, but which left his left arm numb almost to the shoulder. He drove his knee upward into the monk’s abdomen, or attempted to. The strike was blocked, but it was merely a feint. Tashime cracked his forehead across the bridge of the man’s nose, obscured partially by cloth as it was. There was a sharp report and a grunt of pain, then the cloth covering the man’s face began to slowly turn red. “A name,” Tashime rasped as the monk backed up to assume a new stance. “Tell me her name.”
The monk said nothing, circling, looking for an opening. Tashime had his blade in his hands now, and was prepared for the worst. With these men, he had learned, surprise was essential; when they were prepared, there was little that could be done save kill or be killed. If the man would not speak, then Tashime knew the outcome.
His enemy came at him, moving like the wind itself, launching a flurry of feints that the magistrate struggled to keep pace with, constantly moving his blade in an attempt to fend off any actual assault. He could perceive the pattern, but the monk was simply too fast for him to keep up. There was a stinging impact on his left shoulder, and he lost all feeling. The hand fell away from the blade, which Tashime now held awkwardly only in his right hand.
“Foolish,” the monk said, breaking his silence at last. “When you were spared, you should have walked away. Now it has cost you your life.” The monk moved in for the kill.
Tashime’s stance shifted suddenly, the awkwardly held blade suddenly light and darting. It intervened as the monk’s attack came, severing his arm above the right elbow. The man did little more than hiss in pain, but Tashime’s follow-up strike removed one of his legs at the knee as well. With a grunt, the monk collapsed in the floor, his blood coming quickly now.
“You will die,” Tashime said, his voice completely unemotional. He still could not move his arm and made a mental note to thank the Mirumoto sensei who had taught him the basics of the Niten style that allowed him to wield his blade one-handed. “Before you die, speak her name to me.”
“Who?” the abbot nearby demanded, his moment of catatonic shock seemingly broken. “Who is it you seek?”
“She is called the Grey Woman,” the monk said. “Some say she is the favored student of Michio. Some say that he despises her. Regardless, she is powerful indeed.”
“What is her real name?” Tashime pressed.
The monk laughed, and died.
The old abbot’s hands were shaking. “I… I am sorry you did not find out what you wished to know, magistrate.”
Tashime said nothing for a moment. “I already know her name,” he said quietly. “I only hoped that he might prove me wrong.”
Discuss the events of this fiction in our Story Forum!
