L5r - scroll 03 - The Crane

by Ree Soesbee

  Hoturi dived to the side, ignoring the raw pain in his arm, and twisted away from the strange katana. He lifted his weapon once more and lunged onto unsteady feet. Blood stained his right palm, covering the silk wrappings of the ancient blade. He did not care. Pushing forward, he caught the false Hoturi's knees in his arms and twisted them both to the ground with a rough shove.

  The false Hoturi's blade swung from his hand, dropping to the side as they fell. The Black Crane gave out a gasped laugh, clutching for his weapon. It was beyond his reach.

  Hoturi gulped, each breath stabbing fire through his shoulder and lancing pain through his injured side. With the hilt of the Crane katana, he plowed his fist into the false Hoturi's face again, feeling bone crunch beneath his strike.

  The son of the Egg of Pan Ku lifted Hoturi from atop him and threw the Crane Champion to the side. The creature lumbered to his feet and grasped the obsidian hilt.

  With a fluid motion, Hoturi stood, feeling his feet against the hard-packed ground. His mind was clear, his body relaxed, his stance true. Even his shoulder, still inflamed, rested for a moment. The single, strong stroke of the Kakita duelist struck purely. His sword rang as it sped toward the false Hoturi's throat.

  It cut through armor, through steel and through bone, cleaving into the soft flesh of the false Hoturi's throat and snapping the spine beneath with a mighty cut.

  The figure wove. Its head tilted crazily. Mad eyes flashed one last hateful glance at Hoturi's stoic form. Their gazes locked in one last moment of anguish. "Now you see yourself die," it mouthed.

  As the head rolled upon the ground, its laughter began to grow with demonic madness. Soon it filled the air around the combat and echoed the drowning song of the Crane sword. The body wheeled for a moment, hands still reaching for its weapon. The corpse then fell to its knees beside the howling head. It toppled to a ground slick with blood and crushed grasses.

  In only a few seconds, the features began to melt. Fingers dissolved into maggots that writhed and shook. The face oozed like wax beneath a candle's flame. The body slumped into the ground. Flesh turned black and acidic. Bugs swarmed from every opening in the lacquered armor. The face sank into a burbling, choking mask.

  The Crane Champion staggered to his feet. He stared in revulsion until there was nothing left of the false Hoturi save an empty suit of armor, a wormy sludge, and the shattered remains of golden eggshell where the beast's heart had once lain.

  Around him, the smoke of the battlefield had begun to clear. The noble chant of the Asahina shugenja continued. The wind began to rise. Patches of sun scorched the bodies of the undead. They crumpled under Amaterasu's gift. The cloying smoke began to dissipate, and on the far hillock, Kuwanan lifted the necromancer's head for all to see.

  The battle had been won. The Emerald Champion's men surrounded their leader, cheering with the relief of hard-fought victory.

  Hoturi reached to touch the soft hair at his belt. "For you, little one," Hoturi whispered, tears filling his eyes. "For you, and for the clan we both love." As he turned away from the battlefield, the first spring breeze brushed warmly against his cheek, like the touch of a remembered hand.

  a fragile peace

  Hoturi paced through the long aisle of Kyuden Kakita's tattered gardens, watching as architects argued about replacing the stones and scouring the broken timbers before they raised the new wall.

  The spring's warmth felt good after the long winter chill. The snows were melting from the high hillsides of the northern provinces, bringing fresh water to feed the rice fields. Soon the Crane lands would be prosperous again, bearing enough rice and grain to feed the empire.

  The rebuilding of Kyuden Kakita was a great task for the Crane, and one in which they all took pride, but healing the scars left behind by the False Hoturi would take more than mortar and stone. Those wounds would remain deeply imbedded in Hoturi's soul until the Crane were truly safe once more.

  "My lord?" Yoshi's voice was bright, the courtier's lilt drifting easily across the garden.

  Hoturi looked away from the scrambling heimin on the inner wall of the ruined palace. He smiled as his old friend approached.

  "Yoshi-san," Hoturi smiled. "Greetings." In response to the courtier's graceful flourish, he bowed. Seeing that the courtier was not alone, the champion of the Crane nodded politely to old Asahina Tomo, following shortly behind Yoshi.

  "Let me see your wound," the old man croaked, lifting a wrapped bundle of herbs. "There's more to be done, and I won't have the emperor saying his cousin healed crookedly!"

  Hoturi smiled at the strange old man's attentive concern. He nodded and lifted his gi from his shoulders so Tomo could see the bandages.

  As the old healer cautiously removed the wrappings, Yoshi knelt near Hoturi. He looked with casual interest out at the builders. "The palace will never be the same, you know. That front wall is two hand's breadths to the right. Its not symmetrical anymore—"

  "Of course not," Hoturi said, wincing at the too-eager Asahina's touch. "It is not the same palace that it once was. But it will be reborn."

  Yoshi smiled, the imagery delighting him. "Born from flames? That's a Phoenix's duty, not a Crane's."

  "Born from dishonor to honor, Yoshi-san." He tilted his head to allow the cool wrappings to be replaced with a fresh layer of sweet herbs. "The Crane have been obsessed with their own perfection for too long. Let the new kyuden show the empire that we have things to think about beyond the end of our noses."

  A laugh broke the garden's silence. "Well said, Hoturi-sama." Old Toshimoko strode through the palace's open archway, passing artisans who carved elaborate tracery on the wood that would become the new gate. Standing stiffly in the green of the Emerald Champion, Toshimoko affected a solemn bow, belied by the mischief in his smile.

  Hoturi and Yoshi both bowed in return, pleased to see the sensei. "What news from Otosan Uchi?" Hoturi asked simply.

  "Ten new legions of magistrates, from every corner of the empire. With the victory over the Dark Crane at the Asahina temples, half the empire wants to join the fight."

  "Hmm," Hoturi smiled. "More likely, they all wish to take the opportunity to study with you, Sensei." He motioned to Toshimoko to rest nearby, and continued, "And don't you wave that golden fan of yours at my Daidoji samurai. Uji has his hands full trying to build up the ranks before the Lion rally again."

  "We have plans for them, if they should try," Yoshi said smugly. "Toshimoko's victory has brought the Crane many new allies in the Imperial Court. With the spring thaws, the Phoenix will be sending ambassadors to aid us in rebuilding Kyuden Kakita."

  "A legion of'ambassadors,' eh?" Toshimoko laughed. "Old tricks, Yoshi-san."

  "Rebirth does not mean throwing away the old ways, Toshimoko-san." Noting the sensei's new rank, Yoshi bowed in friendship. Toshimoko returned the faint bow with a grin. "We are still the Crane."

  Hoturi smiled at the banter of the two brothers, listening with half an ear to their pleasant conversation.

  When the Lion come this time, he promised himself, the Crane will not bow to their armies. Instead, we will meet them on the field with courage and honor, and we will bring victory home.

  He gazed out into the gardens of Kyuden Kakita, looking at the old trees that spread their ancient branches above the twining ivy. That much, at least, had survived. No matter how long it took to return the palace to its former splendor, the beauty of the Crane still lay not in gold or art, but in the soul of its people. Reaching out softly to cup a blossom on the branch of a flowering cherry tree, Hoturi smiled sadly. One petal of the flower had browned, leaving a faint stain on its perfect form.

  "That one's wilted, my lord," Yoshi said, noting his movements. "Best to leave it for the gardeners. They will remove it, no doubt."

  "No." Hoturi spoke clearly into the quiet of the afternoon. "Tell the gardeners it is not to be touched. Leave this one ... to remind me of the nature of my soul."

  xxxxxxxx

  In the fo
rests of the Kakita, the sun burned an orange glow over twisted vines and thick bramble, illuminating the form of a young fox that lagged behind the rest of her pack. With one last adoring glance through the trees toward the prince in silver and blue, she raced after her companions, white breast shining in the sunset and green eyes pale with joyful tears.