L5r - scroll 07 - The Lion

by Stephen D. Sullivan

  Tadaka spoke a word of power to ward himself against the flaming debris.

  The Kuni darted out of the way and fended off an oozing tendril with her spear. "You show your true colors! No matter. I'll slay both of you, demon summoner." She leapt high in the air and stabbed at the monster's misshapen face.

  The beast brought up three scorched tentacles and turned her thrust aside. The witch hunter twisted in the air and landed on her feet to one side, just out of range of the monster's arms. The aura around her flickered slightly.

  "This creature is no friend of mine," Tadaka said. "I've come to destroy it."

  The oni laughed, a sound like rocks breaking. "I bear your name, Tadaka," it said. "You cannot kill me! I am you!"

  "Never!" Tadaka cried, his shout echoing off the burning walls around them. He scooped a handful of red-hot rocks from the ground and hurled them at the demon. As they flew, the coals turned into blazing darts. The fiery shuriken struck the beast's face, piercing its scorched and flabby brain.

  The monster screamed. Tadaka saw now that it was more gravely wounded than the Elemental Masters' interrogations could account for. Its neck had been cut nearly through. The flesh had been scorched from the skull, leaving the great head a mass of bone and brain. The brain itself was crushed and deformed.

  How the thing still lived, the Master of Earth could not fathom.

  The Kuni sprinted beneath the oni's flailing tendrils and thrust her spear up through the bottom of the monster's sagging jaw. The forked tines of the weapon pierced the skull and burst through the brain, sending a spray of black liquid and mottled purple flesh into the scorching air.

  Again, the aura around her dimmed; patches of sweat formed on the chest of the witch hunter's white robe.

  Her magic is failing, Tadaka thought. She needs to get out of this inferno.

  He shouted over the roar of the fire, summoning the life force of the earth to himself. Jagged spikes of rock thrust up from the floor and in from the remaining walls. They pierced the oni's flayed body in a hundred places.

  The Kuni rolled out of the way, avoiding both Tadaka's deadly rock spines and the monster's flailing tentacles.

  At a word from their master, the stones erupted from the oni's body, splattering its innards over the flaming ruins. The huge monster squealed in agony, fell into the coals and ashes, and lay there twitching while its black lifeblood ran out. .. betrayed ... betrayed!" the oni burbled.

  "Junzo betrayed you?" Tadaka asked. "He did this to you?"

  Hideous laughter racked the oni's immense, tortured body. Then, with a bubbling hiss, its breath ran out and it died.

  Tadaka gazed at the charred and bloody form. He could see the mark of dark sorcery upon the carcass. Why would Junzo do this? Tadaka wondered. Did the oni really tell us so much? The Master of Earth shook his head. Whatever the reason Junzo had done this, the dark sorcerer had unwittingly helped Tadaka.

  "Now ... face me!" the witch hunter hissed from behind him.

  Tadaka turned as she walked forward, her steps labored and uncertain. Sweat drenched her white robe, making it cling to her thin frame. The aura protecting her flickered and dimmed.

  "I'm not your enemy," Tadaka said.

  "So ... you ... say," the Kuni gasped. She pointed her forked spear at his chest. Her legs gave way. She toppled forward, and Tadaka caught her in his arms. The magic protecting her dimmed

  and went out. Her bronze amulet blackened and turned to ashes.

  Tadaka chanted a sutra to Amaterasu and extended his protection around the Kuni's prostrate form. He lifted her sweat-slick body and carried her out of the burning castle. Even unconscious, she clutched her spear tightly in her fist.

  The sun sat on the shoulders of Mori Isawa, the great wood of the Phoenix, when Tadaka finally reached the edge of the ruins. Amaterasu shone the pale, crimson rays of her waning light over the denuded trees and red-needled pines. Spring had not brought renewal this year; it only reminded the people of the evil walking the land.

  The Master of Earth's human burden weighed heavily in his arms. The wound in his side ached and burned. He paused next to a remnant of fallen wall and laid the Kuni witch hunter down on the cool sand.

  Kneeling beside her, he took a flask of pure water from his belt. Lifting her mask slightly—not enough to reveal her face—he put the vial to her cracked and bloody lips. Gently, he poured the liquid into her mouth.

  The eyes behind her jade mask flickered open.

  "Perhaps ... some spark of humanity ... remains within you yet," she said weakly. She took the flask from him and continued drinking.

  Tadaka sat down on the sand next to her. "Hai, perhaps."

  "It makes no difference, though," the Kuni said. She sat up slowly and stretched her lithe form. "We must still have our reckoning."

  "Saving your life makes no difference?"

  She shook her head, and her eyes gleamed. "It was pursuing you that endangered my life in the first place. I am pledged to fight evil; you are tainted. Saving me has won you only a temporary respite." She pulled the arrowhead from the cord around her neck and held it out to him in her pale hand. "You gave this to me to find you when the time came—so that we could finish our battle. Your people have been destroyed because of your corruption. As soon as I've recovered fully, it's time to settle old debts."

  The Master of Earth peered into the dark eyes behind the jade mask. "The time is close now, but my obligations here are not yet finished."

  "Would you do more damage? This could have been prevented if I had killed you." Her grip tightened on her forked spear. She rose and pointed the weapon at his breast.

  Tadaka sat calmly on the sand. "Perhaps, but perhaps our fortunes are stronger than our will. My fate will not be complete until I have rectified the damage I have caused."

  "You cling to life like a frightened child," the witch hunter said, lowering her spear.

  "No," he said. "I merely wait to fulfill my destiny. Before I met you, on my mission into the Shadowlands, I met another man. He warned me against the journey and said it would be my doom."

  The witch hunter nodded and her dark hair danced around her lithe form. "He was right."

  "Hai. I see that now. He said something else, though, that we would meet again when the end of the world was nigh. That time is fast approaching. I feel it in the earth. I feel it in my bones. My mission is not yet complete. I ask you to wait. When my task is finished, then you can do with me what you will." He held her with his dark eyes until she finally nodded.

  "Very well," the witch hunter said. "I'll wait. But I'll also watch. I won't let you make the same mistakes again, Isawa Tadaka."

  Still sitting, he bowed to her. "I'm glad to hear it. Domo arigato gozaimasu."

  Tadaka couldn't tell if she frowned behind her mask or not. She bowed curtly to him and then walked quickly away. "Remember," she called back, "I will be watching." She vanished into the descending night like a black-maned specter.

  As she disappeared from sight, Tadaka suddenly felt tired. The elemental master rose from the sand and* seated himself on a fallen stone at the edge of the ruins. He pulled the round-brimmed hat from his head and wiped his brow. "How much longer, Amaterasu?"

  He sat on the beach beside the castle until well after sunset, meditating and carefully binding his wounded side. He took his supper in solitude, eating dried fruits and seaweed and drinking from a jade flask. The green stone burned his palms where it touched, a legacy of the Shadowlands curse that afflicted the Master of Earth. Still, he fought the pain and refused to give in.

  The fires behind him beat back the night, casting their orange glow over the wide beach around the castle. Out to sea, the first stars flickered to life. The cascade of the surf and snap of the fire combined to form a strange, rhythmic music. Far off, he thought he heard the sound of a flute.

  He wondered where his brother, Tomo, and the other Elemental Masters were. Did they even know that the Phoenix palace had fallen? Was Tomo s
itting beneath the waves somewhere, talking with the dolphins? Was Uona flying naked above the clouds, gazing down on the mountaintops? Was Tsuke toiling beneath his fortress, forging enchanted weapons to fight the enemy?

  Tadaka shook his head. They had become the enemy—all of them. In their zest to defeat Fu Leng, he and the other Elemental Masters had used the Evil One's methods, employed his servants. The burning of the great library was just a down payment against the debt on their souls. Tadaka silently vowed to balance the accounts.

  The veins of taint scarring the back of his hands itched, and he scratched them. So much to make amends for, and very little time left. He felt it in his weary bones.

  "Is there nothing left?" a deep voice beside him asked.

  Tadaka looked up to find Isawa Tsuke, the Master of Fire, standing near his elbow. Light from the castle's fires played across Tsuke's harsh face and made his eyes glow red.

  The Master of Earth shook his head. "Nothing."

  The crystal jewelry decorating Tsuke's orange and red kimono rattled and sparked in the darkness. He looked around suspiciously and rubbed his shaved head. "What about... it?"

  "The oni?"

  Tsuke nodded. "Hai."

  "Dead," Tadaka replied. "Junzo left it behind when he burned the castle. It was crippled and weak. I still had to slay its body, though."

  "You had no trouble doing so?" Tsuke asked. "None," Tadaka said. In his mind, he saw the witch hunter's spear flashing toward his side. He put his hand on his bandaged ribs and rubbed the indigo silk covering them.

  "Too bad the beast didn't serve us better," Tsuke said grimly. "Still, we found what we summoned it for—power and knowledge to rival Fu Leng's own. When the time is right, we'll strike."

  Tadaka pulled his round-brimmed straw hat low over his face. His eyes blazed green in the darkness. "Yes," he said. "Very soon, now."

  HONOR

  Warm winds blew from the south over the Spine of the World Mountains. The breeze was wholesome, untainted by Shadowlands stench, and spoke of spring and new life. It rattled the prickly needles of the tall cryptome-ria and made the cherry blossoms shake. Birds chirped happily in the boughs, and new shoots of green sprouted up through the damp ground.

  Spring is very late, Toturi thought, but it has finally come. He strode purposefully through the silent encampment. He'd ordered the camp-fires extinguished this morning, so that no smoke would stain today's air.

  Overhead, the weather seemed to be cooperating as well. Only a single, high cloud hung in the silvery predawn sky. It will be a glorious day, Toturi thought—as it should be. He turned and gazed back down toward the river valley below. The mountains behind them, the river before them. They were caught in the midst of two worlds. It was only fitting.

  The Black Lion exhaled slowly, and the cloud of his breath drifted up to heaven. Winter had not yet completely released its grip. Perhaps, today, though ...

  He made his way through the tents to Tsuko's pavilion. He'd given her his own tent, as there was no time to prepare one suitable for her. Toturi bowed slightly to Bentai and Gohei, standing guard on either side of the door. They bowed low to him in return and stepped aside to let him enter.

  Inside, Matsu Tsuko sat quietly on a pillow in the center of the floor. Her eyes were closed in meditation, but she opened them when Toturi entered. He bowed to her; she stood.

  Tsuko walked to the stand holding her daisho. She picked up the wakizashi—her soul—and tucked it into her belt. Then she turned and held out her lion-headed sword to Toturi. "Here," she said, "take this."

  "I couldn't," the Black Lion replied.

  "You must," she said, her dark eyes full of fire.

  "It would not be right."

  She insisted. "It is your duty."

  "I am not worthy of this gift," he said, finishing the ancient formula of polite refusal.

  "I will have it no other way," she replied. "Take this, for the sake of the empire." Their eyes locked for a few moments. "And for my sake, as well," she added. "If ever you loved your brother, take it."

  Toturi bowed once. He held out his hands and took the katana from her. He tucked it into his broad obi. She handed him a sheet of perfect white rice paper, folded once. He tucked that into his belt as well. "Are you ready?" he asked.

  Tsuko nodded. "I am ready."

  She looked magnificent in her pure white robes. Toturi admired her grace and perfect tranquility. She truly is the Lion, he thought. They turned and left the pavilion together.

  The paths between the tents stood deserted. All of Toturi's samurai had retired inside, as Tsuko desired. As Tsuko and Toturi passed through the tent city only the spring breeze and the chirping of birds disturbed the silence.

  At the edge of the camp, an old monk greeted them. His name was Kazuo, and he had once been a tutor to the Matsu. His features were wizened with the passage of many summers, and his limbs shook as he leaned against a tall pole blazoned with the Lion mon. He had joined Toturi's army after Junzo's forces destroyed his monastery.

  Kazuo bowed very low as Tsuko and Toturi approached. They bowed in return. Tsuko stepped forward, and Kazuo fell in behind her, proudly carrying the Lion standard. Toturi solemnly brought up the rear.

  They walked uphill to a jutting rock far above the encampment. A small wooden scaffold had been set atop the rock, forming a kind of natural stage. A smooth curtain of white silk encircled the platform, blocking out the trees behind and leaving the front open to the landscape and the sky.

  Kazuo planted the golden mon of the Lion in a small flower-dappled clearing in front of the platform. The standard flapped in the breeze, its silk whispering of power and grace and honor.

  As the three of them approached the platform, Toturi looked downhill. The tall pines of the forest hid all of the encampment, except the very top of his own tent. Far beyond that, the river stretched out silver in the predawn light.

  Somewhere on the other side, Tsuko's Lion army searched for their mistress. They would not find her. Before long, Matsu Gohei would ride into their camp and have them march east—turning over command of the troops to Matsu Yojo. Then Gohei would return to Toturi's camp and wait for word from his mistress.

  If Tsuko looked for her encampment or her samurai friend, Toturi did not notice.

  Kazuo mounted the platform before them, chanting a Shintao prayer of purification. Finishing, he turned and bowed to the waiting lords. Tsuko walked up the short steps to the top of the platform. Toturi came behind Tsuko, taking his place on her right. The priest stood silently on Tsuko's left.

  Matsu Tsuko bowed to Toturi, then toward Otosan Uchi— hidden in the fog and darkness beyond the valley and far to the northeast. She knelt on the platform and spread out a roll of pristine white rice paper. She took the wakizashi from her belt and placed it carefully on the paper's surface.

  She bowed low to the east, where the sun still loomed below the horizon, and said a quiet prayer. Then she stood and stepped carefully onto the middle of the paper. Folding her legs under her, she knelt down and sat on her heels in the traditional seiza position.

  Tsuko picked up the wakizashi and unsheathed the blade. Kazuo stepped forward with a bucket of clear water. Tsuko held the sword out to the side, and he ladled the water down the blade, purifying the steel.

  The Lion daimyo nodded a bow to the monk. He bowed in return and stepped back. He walked to Toturi, who had unsheathed Tsuko's lion-headed katana, and purified the blade in the same manner. Toturi raised the blade high in salute and readiness. Kazuo stepped back into his place. Tsuko picked up a small piece of white rice paper and folded it around the blade.

  She gripped the sword in both hands and positioned it over her belly, below her navel and to the left. Calmly, she gazed out over the forest and mouthed a final, silent prayer.

  Steeling her jaw, Tsuko plunged the blade of the wakizashi into her body.

  The wind sighed and rustled through the trees. White cherry blossoms sailed off their branches and da
nced through the air. They surrounded Tsuko and caressed her, but she took no notice.

  Slowly and carefully, she cut her belly from left to right. Her face remained calm; she did not cry out. Warm blood stained the front of her white kimono, but the fabric held her guts inside her. When she had finished the left-to-right incision, she moved the blade upward, toward her heart.

  At that moment, the sun rose. The light of the goddess shone in Matsu Tsuko's dark eyes. "Arasou," she gasped, "I come!" Tears welled up at the corners of her eyes. Her hands hesitated, as if her strength might fail.

  Toturi stepped forward and, with one swift stroke, severed her neck. Tsuko's face flopped onto her breast, a thin flap of skin holding her head to her body. Kazuo nodded grimly; the cut had been perfect—Tsuko's head would not be dishonored by touching the ground.

  Toturi stepped back, and the priest washed Tsuko's blood from the Lion-headed sword. The Black Lion wiped the blade dry with white rice paper and then resheathed it. His jaw trembled, and tears welled at the corner of his deep brown eyes. White cherry petals fluttered around him like butterflies.

  Toturi walked to the front of the platform and removed the paper from his belt. He unfolded it and, tears streaming down his face, read Matsu Tsuko's death poem. The Black Lion's deep voice rolled across the hillside like the surf on the shore.

  "In winter's sorrow Despairing shadows grow long In my eyes, spring dawns"

  At the final word, a small white cloud in the sky opened up, showering gentle snow upon Toturi, Kazuo, and the wildflowers in the tiny meadow below the platform. The flakes danced with the cherry petals before settling to earth. The delicate crystals lingered a moment before evaporating into the late spring air.

  "Amaterasu weeps as well," Kazuo said quietly from behind Toturi.