A unique look at the three war fronts on which the Rokugani are currently fighting: the war in the north against the Army of Fire, the war in the south against the Destroyers, and the terrible toll being taken in the Empire by the restless dead, as well as their effects upon those who dwell there.
Three
By Lucas Twyman
Edited by Fred Wan
The North
The priest taught us that death is not a thing to be feared.
I am afraid to die.
Every year, at harvest time, he would visit our village and bless the fields. All things live and all things have a spirit, he taught us. The stones themselves are alive, he would tell us, then convince us of his words. He would whisper to them, and they would move, of their own will. The ground would shift and crumble, and fresh soil would rise from deep within the earth and crawling worms and insects would thrust their heads for the first time to the sky. The elder of the village told us this is how it always was; the same ritual happened in his childhood, and in his grandfather’s childhood.
The priest would then follow us to the shrine at the bottom of the foothill, where the ashes of our village’s ancestors were interred. He would thank the spirits of our fathers and grandfathers, and their fathers and grandfathers, for watching over our small village, for providing us with food and strength, despite the harsh conditions of our mountain home. Then he would tell us not to fear death, for we would join our ancestors in watching over us, until it was time for us to be born anew.
He would tell us that our lives would be judged by the Heavens, and we would be born again one day. We should not fear death, we should live to die nobly, for doing so made the Heavens happy. He said that if we lived for our duties and died for our Empire, that we would be raised from our station in the next life. We would be ashigaru, or monks, after many noble deaths, even samurai. Perhaps even priests.
We should not encourage death, he said, but we should not fear welcoming it.
I’m sorry, Lord Priest. I am so scared.
I don’t want to die.
Our village was small and remote, but we were not immune to the world’s changes. During my great-grandfather’s time, the demons came, and he hid his wife and my grandfather in a cave until the magistrates arrived and declared the Empire to be safe and new, with a new Emperor chosen by the Mandate of Heaven. Heaven was soon torn open, and my great-grandfather lost his name. In the shrine at the base of the foothill, his urn remains unmarked, for we never remembered it. During my grandfather’s day, it was said that the honored ancestors themselves came back to visit – not ours, whom the priest said are reborn soon after they die, but the ancestors of the samurai lords. A spirit visited our village, glowing with the light of Heaven. It walked painfully, like a dying animal. It was separated from its army and its leg was broken. It had been attacked by one of the demons we call “mountain goblins,” which were common in the time of my grandfather but are now rarely seen. It lay in my grandfather’s home, feverish and speaking with an ancient accent of the distant past. When the tax-collector came and told us that the children of our masters had been kidnapped by an agent of the spirits, my grandfather himself slit the spirit’s throat.
My father told me the story, and said that the traitorous ancestor cried out a wordless gurgle as his blood fell into the dirt.
Then, during my youth, the Children of Heaven warred to gain Heaven’s Mandate. My older brother left to join their armies, and as the eldest of my village’s defenders, I was trained with the spear to defend the village. A new Emperor was crowned, but things did not change. Every year, a priest would come to the village and bless the crops, and tell us not to fear death – we should only fear failure in the Eyes of the Heavens. It made me fear the Heavens themselves.
I thought that I feared the Heavens as much as I feared Jigoku.
I was wrong.
The Emperor died, and our life did not change. I visited Old Oak Village, three days from my own, and met the young woman chosen to be my wife. She was strong, and did not complain about having to till the fields at my side, unlike the wife of Ichi, my brother, whom he met in a great city during his time in the army. A new Empress was chosen by the Heavens. The tax collector told us of her strength and wisdom. He said no mortal could look at her, or the radiant light of her beauty would blind them as if they looked into the sun. We felt safe.
Then the burning men came. The tax collector arrived and moved our families south. Since I was trained in the spear, he put me into the armies of our lord. I saw the burning men only once – at the battle of Morning Glory Castle – but the smell of scalded flesh remained in my nostrils for days. If death is what I saw in the faces of the men who fell that day, I don’t want to die.
When the war ended, it was supposed to be the beginning of a new age of peace. The Empire had passed the test. We would now be rewarded for bowing before the Will of Heaven and accepting their chosen one as our Divine Leader. But it was not to be – the burning men came again. I was working the fields when they struck. I saw the smoke and ran, but by the time I returned, my village burned, and the invaders had left. I do not believe that if I faced them, I would have survived. I would have at least died with my family.
I am forced to wonder: was that why I did not return in time?
I do not want to die.
But I do not want to hurt any longer.
I was pressed into the forces of my lord, sent to the south, near the lands of the Lion. I have never seen fields so fertile: plants grow here without the aid of priests, and the here farmers do not fear death. They tell me of the realms of the dead and stories of their ancestors. They have been raised with them. The monks and priests have visited them often, and they believe. They know where they will go when they die.
I am not so certain I believe.
We move ever south, and we are told that we must face the armies of the invaders: beasts that walk like men, creatures of nightmare. The men from these villages hope to die to save their families, hope to die so that they may be one day reborn as samurai. I fear that death is the end. I fear that death is not the worst thing that may happen to us.
Many have become sick. We marched past a village, quarantined by the local lords. Some of our men have developed symptoms: the cough, the black mucus, red eyes. In the mountains, we know what herbs to pick for cough, what flowers can be made into a compress to ease breathing. None of these remedies have helped.
Last night, I saw a man die, and rise again, biting and tearing at the herbalist examining him only moments before.
They say we should die for the Empire.
At dawn we fight. At dawn, I might die.
I’m afraid to die.
I am so very, very afraid.
* * * * *
The Center
Five days.
For five days, Hitofu had followed the man and the boy through the coastal provinces of the Crane. He had watched his targets closely: both walked with the practiced grace of a dancer, never expending more energy than required. The man had a hungry edge to him, but, unlike Hitofu, he was no wolf, used to fighting for his meals. Despite his plain clothing, the man demanded attention. He and the boy slept in cheap inns and ate at small noodle-houses, but he spoke with clearly and with authority, as if he expected his words to be obeyed without exception. Hitofu had met men like him before – usually unwise samurai of great clans stripped of their titles or on musha shugy?, expecting to be treated as if they were members of their traditional station rather than their present one. In Hitofu’s experience, it meant the new ronin was soft, no matter how extensive their training.
The contract said otherwise. One hundred koku, the contract said, one hundred koku and a position in the Emerald Magistrates. The price was an extravagant one for a criminal’s head, but the position offered was incredible – if Hitofu succeeded, he would never have to fight for a meal again. With his skill, Hitofu could obtain any number of local magistrate positions, but he would likely be tied down to a dreary town on the edge of the Empire. As an Emerald Magistrate, Hitofu could wander to his heart’s content. Answering only to the land’s highest authority, he would never be harassed by samurai on the road, never forced to bribe an official to use the Empress’s road.
But to be worth such a prize, the man would have to be dangerous indeed.
The pair did not look so troublesome – the man was missing an eye, which likely meant he had lost at least one battle in the past, and the boy looked weedy and thin. Both had surprisingly pale features for men on the road. Still, it was no reason to treat them lightly, Hitofu mused as he sat on the cliffside. He had tracked them to Three Fish Village, and he could follow them as long as he needed, until he had their measure. He smiled as he watched the the boy skip gracefully from stone to stone near the cliffside, then turned his gaze back to the man, who…
…who was looking right at him.
“You.”
Hitofu blinked and slowly rose to his feet.
The man threw his straw coat to the ground, stretched his neck, and pointed to the ronin. “You, wave-man. You have followed us for at least the last seventy li. Will you not make your move?”
Hitofu blinked. “I… I am sorry, my friend. I do not know what you are –”
“Do not try to deceive me, ronin,” the man said coldly, “I do not take well to deception.”
Hitofu nodded. He rather liked this man’s approach – far too often, samurai of the clans tried to do whatever they could to avoid saying what they meant. “I am here to collect a bounty, my friend. I regret to tell you that you are my target.”
The man nodded, slowly. “I expected as much. But I would ask that you refrain from considering me your friend.”
“If you wish,” Hitofu replied, rolling his shoulders back. “If we must dispense of all pretense, then we will. Now, should we get to it?”
The man inclined his head slightly, then nodded again.
“Blade of Nanashi’s Eyes,” Hitofu said, saluting his opponent before falling back into his stance, “Sensei Kyome.”
The man acknowledged Hitofu’s salute and fell back into a tight stance. He placed his right hand on his obi and opened his left, as if making an offering to the ronin. “Sensei Kaiten.”
Hitofu’s eyes grew wide. There was no weakness in this man’s stance. It had to be him! Hitofu fought desperately to keep the growing panic from affecting him. He glanced from his opponent to the boy, who was watching his father dispassionately.
“Lord Noritoshi,” Hitofu said, as bluntly as he could manage, “Your stance is impeccable.”
Noritoshi did not deign to give the ronin a response.
Hitofu stared into the steel blue of the Crane’s eye. He believed he would die this day, but the opportunity it would give him – he would take the chance. Both men stood silent and still, waiting for their adversary to move.
There was movement on the horizon. Hitofu blinked – it was there, a cloud of dust, moving slowly towards the small coastal village. The Crane tensed for a second, as if readying a strike, then noticed that his opponent was not readying his move, but was responding to something over his shoulder.
“Father,” the boy whispered, looking past the village as well, “something is out there.”
Hitofu relaxed, and the Crane tilted his body, allowing himself to look back with his one good eye. “Not riders. Men?”
“They are walking slowly, father. There are many, and they are not in formation.”
“Beasts,” Hitofu said, and his blood ran cold. “Zombies. I have heard rumors… how many live in that village?”
Noritoshi returned his attention to the ronin, falling back into his iai stance.
“Do you not see them?” Hitofu cried. “Do you not care?”
“They are not my concern,” the Crane replied. “The villagers belong to the Empress, yes, and those beasts are a threat to her property, but the Daidoji will arrive soon enough to protect the village. I have a higher calling.”
Hitofu slowly raised his hand from his daisho. “What could be a greater calling for a clan samurai than defending his family and his Empire?”
The Crane stood still and unmoving. “Do not presume to judge me, wave-man. My son and I – we are my family, and by living through this day I can defend the Empire from a greater threat.” His eyes were cold. “What is the greater threat to the Empress – the viper in her field, or the one coiled around her feet?”
Hitofu’s thoughts reeled. “You… you and the Emerald Champion.” He cupped his hand over his eyes and looked from the Kakita to the village behind them. “Are you mad, Crane? I had my doubts when I realized who my target truly is, but what you say is treason. He is justified in hunting you.”
“My family and I will oppose him and his kind, even if it costs us all we have. The Empire is worth that much.”
“But… they say the Crab fight daily with demons, and that the northern mountains again burn. Would you truly thrust your family into a conflict knowing that the Empire may need your strength to survive?”
“I should expect as much from you, ronin. You and your kind fight to gather scraps, to survive to your next meal. That is why, no matter what skill you may have, you will never be a true samurai. The Kakita never fight merely to survive, ronin.” Noritoshi glanced back at his son. “We fight to preserve the culture of the Empire itself. Surviving without our culture, our laws, our tradition – that is no survival at all. An Empire that defeats its foes but has a creature like Jimen as its heart is no longer Rokugan.”
“You can’t think you’ll succeed – even if you kill me, I am not the only one hunting you. And if we fail, how do you know Jimen won’t send him all he can after you? The magistrates, the Shosuro – forces that should be defending the Empire in time of war.”
“I would expect him to,” Noritoshi replied, “as he is unfit for his position.”
Hitofu blinked. “But…”
Noritoshi tightened his grip on his obi. “Do you not wish for this duel, ronin?”
Hitofu clenched his fists. “I…” He looked to the village again, at the forces approaching it. “.. No. Not today.”
Noritoshi relaxed his stance and looked at his son. The boy nodded at his father, who looked back at Hitofu. “I will pay you ten koku if you defend my people, ronin. Hold those creatures off until reinforcements arrive, and return to this spot. You will find payment in the basket my son carries.”
Hitofu nodded. “This will not be the last you see of me, Lord Noritoshi.”
Noritoshi opened his arm, and his son ran to his side. A slight smile crossed his face. “A pity, that.”
The two Crane walked past the ronin, following the coast to the south. Hitofu watched them for a moment, then shook his head, then began running towards Three Fish Village. He knew that today he had seen his own death – but if it came at the hands of the creatures advancing on Three Fish Village or the man who had employed him to defend it, he did not know.
* * * * *
The South
It is almost dusk, and my unit disengages from the rest of the forces marching south. It is a duty we do gladly; it is part of tradition that some of our units rest separately from the main force. It means that any ambushes in the night will attack the outside units first, so the central force will have time to mobilize, but that is only the practical reason. The true reason is simple: as the sky goes red, we know that the sun will never set on the united armies of the Lion.
As usual, we receive our orders from an ashigaru courier. It is the same man who has dealt with us these past few weeks, and if he survives, he will likely be our liaison for the entire campaign. He is young and eager, but he never looks our nikutai in the eye – deftly maintaining propriety. We are technically above his station, but our shame makes us below his place on the order. It is not a noble duty he bears. I pray to the ancestors that he outlives us, but I am certain they do not listen.
Despite his position, the nikutai still receives maps of the battle, planned from our advance scouts. I pay them little notice – I can make neither heads nor tails of the complexities of our new war. I know only that I have waited a long time for this chance. I am among the oldest members of our unit, both generally – through the seasons I have seen — and specifically — through seniority.
“The enemy continues pulling north, Senichi,” the nikutai says. I am the only one whom he addresses by the name of a dead man – perhaps because I am the only one who has been with the unit longer than he. Perhaps it is to rankle me. My rage has won more than one battle under his command – but even that might be what angers him. He taps the map, plays with it, spread out in the dirt like a tattered bird. “Do they plan to escape to the mountains, do you think?”
I grunt and shake my head. “I know not, commander. The mountains will not save them from our talons.”
The nikutai smirks and rubs his chin. “Courage in the face of unfathomable horror. Were you leading our forces, Senichi, the Empire would not have any enemies left to trouble us.”
A fire burns in my chest. I can hear my wife crying. “Were I leading our forces, commander, I would be dead by now, and my family would finally be free of my shame.”
“Is that what you want, Senichi? Your family to be free of the shame you represent?” The nikutai scowls as he asks me the same question he asks before every battle. “Or do you want to finally be free of your own shame?”
I cannot help myself – I can feel my lip curling into a sneer. “Are they not one and the same, commander?”
“I suppose it is close enough not to matter,” the nikutai says, sternly. “You will be third watch.”
I bow to the nikutai – protocol must be obeyed, even among those like we – and search for a place to rest. I can feel the eyes of the other men in the unit follow me. They fear me, perhaps rightfully. I am no Setai, but I am a Deathseeker who has survived more than one battle. All the softness in me is gone.
If they had seen the man who once bore my name, they may have feared me, but only in the manner that one fears a bonfire: stay away until it burns out, or it may catch you with its hunger. Certainly, the man who bore my name was strong once, but he was not a physically formidable man near the end. The man who once stood at the gates of Toshi Ranbo as Lord Nimuro claimed his prize died years before his second death, drowned by the drink and his own fears. And it was his wife and child that paid that price.
After I joined our unit of walking dead, the weakness of my old form was sloughed away, replaced by the harsh muscles and sinew born by the endless march towards war. Now, I know that I will die soon. What I must constantly wonder is if it will be enough.
My sleep is difficult, as always. My wife’s spirit speaks to me in the night, screaming of the monster that took our son from us, not fully understanding that the monster is me. I tremble, like I trembled when I died the second time – without the drink, I trembled for days.
But tonight is different. A rider appears, and my wife grows silent at his approach. He leads me away from my wife. He walks beside his steed, a noble creature that watches me silently.
He tells me he once lived as I do. I tell him that I am already dead.
“If only it was that easy,” he says, and he smiles.
The mists seem endless, but I feel as if the horse knows the way. It is guiding us, not the horseman guiding her. I ask him where we are going.
“That’s the question, isn’t it?” he replies. “I don’t think we can know until we get there.”
I ask him where we are.
“You’re the Lion,” he replies. “You’re the one who knows about what happens after we die.”
I tell him I already am dead.
“You’re lively for a dead man. Your heart may feel dead, Lion, but your body is waiting to catch up.”
I ask him why he is here, and he replies that it is his job to be here.
I ask him why I am here.
“Usually,” he says, a strange smile still playing on his lips, “It means that they’re not done with you yet.”
“What do you mean? Who are you talking about?”
“What I mean,” he replies, “is that your story isn’t quite over yet.” He shrugs. “Just because you are forgotten, it doesn’t mean you’re gone. You may still have more to do.”
The night is silent and still. I look to the guard posted on the hill.
He is not there.
I cry out. A demon rises out of the darkness, a creature twice the height of a man, with the head of a strange, long-nosed beast.
I grab my blade and charge. As I run, I pray.
I pray I can die a third time.
I pray that this death is a good one.
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