When his daimyo made war on his neighbors the young samurai served his master faithfully and well, and for this he was rewarded with the prized fiefdom of Sekibune, through which a great river flows to the sea and where the hills are all covered with tall trees straight as arrows that can be used for many things. It was the finest fiefdom in all the daimyo’s lands and when it was given to the young man of the Korus people, some among the lord’s Ashinese retainers took it hard. These men grew jealous that the daimyo should show such favor to a man who was both young and a foreigner in their eyes, though it was they who had come to Korusbo from Great Ashinan.
With his high reputation and rich fiefdom the young samurai was fit to take a goodly wife, and though his daimyo had a beautiful daughter of the correct age, it happened that the samurai came to be enamored of another. She was an Ashinese noblewoman of great virtue and beauty who came to visit Korusbo from the main island, where her family was high in the Shogun’s court. Her name was Matsuko, and she came to Korusbo in winter to see the dancing of the Gendji cranes by the river in Sekibune. The master of that place took her to see the birds, dancing two-by-two, and there he fell in love with her, and she with him. The two were soon wed.
Then did the jealous retainers of the daimyo whisper to their lord that his favored samurai had affronted him by not asking for the daimyo’s daughter to be his wife. What was more, they said that in marrying Matsuko the samurai sought only to forge a tie to the Shogun’s court in Ashinan, which someday would allow him to become lord beyond Sekibune. The daimyo listened to their poison words and when in due time the couple had as their first child a girl they called Fu-Shora, he made as his gift to them a young woman from the village of Mabinuma. She came to the samurai’s house to serve Matsuko and was welcomed, but the gift was not as it seemed. The people of Mabinuma were of the secret clans known as the ninja, and they spent all of their days practicing the ways of stealth, and of trickery, and of living in shadow. The young woman came not as a simple servant of Matsuko and her new child, but as the eyes and the ears of the daimyo within the samurai’s house.
For a time there was peace in the daimyo’s lands and all prospered, though none quite so much as did the samurai whose fief of Sekibune was by the river and the sea. He was a just ruler and Matsuko was wise, and together they made Sekibune a pleasant place for its people, and in turn they were blessed with a fine son who they named Shikorus. On a high hill in the timber above the mouth of the river with the rocky coast all around, the samurai made a great house in which the family lived. In winter they had only to step out from their front door to see the Gendji cranes dancing by the river in pairs, with the light feet of the graceful birds never breaking the crust of the snow.
In time it came to be that all of the most important visitors to the daimyo’s land, be they Ashinese nobles, representatives from the Celestial Empire on Cho Lung, or even traders from distant Miilark, all alike would come to Sekibune when they were on Korusbo, and the hospitality of the samurai’s house became as renown as had been the skill of his sword in the time of war. The daimyo’s jealous retainers never ceased to whisper in his ears, and though the woman he had put in the samurai’s house as a spy told him truthfully that the man never spoke a word against his master, nor suffered to hear one from another, the poison within the daimyo’s heart only festered, and grew.
In a year when the winter was exceptionally hard the daimyo was persuaded to offer his samurai a quest, which all believed the man would surely refuse to the great detriment of his increasing honor. He was told he must go north and into the deep mountains, where no man goes in winter, there to find the blades of the great hero Ozari Ieysuna who had perished there centuries before. Though the samurai knew the peril of such a quest, it was not within him to decline. His wife and children wept for him and begged him not to go, for in winter fierce spirits dwelled in the icy mountains. Yet the samurai would refuse no request of his daimyo, and so he went away from Matsuko and his little children Fu-Shora and Shikorus, and he turned his face to the north.
When winter turned to spring, he did not return, and neither as spring became summer, nor as summer changed to fall. It was believed by all that the samurai had perished, and though his family was left in possession of Sekibune and their fine house, they wore the colors of mourning and were aggrieved all of their days. Yet when winter came again, and the cranes returned to dance by the river, then did the samurai come down out of the mountains of the north. He brought with him the two swords of Ozari Ieysuna, the long katana that is called the Breath of Winter and the short wakizashi that is called the Knife of Ice. Then his fame knew no bounds in all of Ashinan, yet he cared for it not for his joy was all in returning to his family. But his return brought no joy to his jealous master.
The daimyo demanded that the swords be given to him, but the samurai said this was a thing that he could not do for the blades had been given unto him as a sacred trust by a spirit of the mountains. Then was the daimyo greatly wrathful, and though he would do nothing openly against so great a hero he had in his power more shadowy means. In his poisoned heart he found the will to use them.
The young woman from the ninja clan of Mabinuma had lived with the samurai’s family for years almost as a second daughter and as a sister to the children, and she had shared in their grief while the samurai was believed dead. Yet she was ordered by her clan to act against them, and it was a thing she could not refuse to do. She added to their food from certain plants that are known only to the ninja, and a great sickness came upon the family. The samurai proved strong enough to survive, but not so his wife Matsuko, his daughter Fu-Shora, and his little son Shikorus.
When the daimyo learned that the samurai would live he put aside all pretense of decency and sent retainers to finish him, but even in his sickness the samurai was spirited away by his wife’s family and taken to the main island of Ashinan. There he recovered his strength, and then he brought it back against the treacherous daimyo and his dishonorable retainers. There was a great slaughter in the province, not only of the men, but also of their families, and indeed of anyone who stood in the samurai’s way. His vengeance knew no assuagement, and he carried it even to the village of Mabinuma and slew all that he found there, though he did not find the young woman who had been as a member of his household while his children lived out their short lives.
He followed her trail for a year, and found her at last in the temple called the Gidoji, in the vast desert of the Celestial Empire which is known as the Waterless Sea. There he learned that she had not fled from his vengeance, but rather from her own conscience, for the thing she had been made to do had broken her heart for all time. Before the great altar of the Gidoji, the samurai brought the Breath of Winter to her throat as she prayed, and though she did not resist the samurai saw in her eyes that there was no vengeance for him in ending her miserable life, for the ninja had died with the family that she slew. All that was left was a woman who had given herself over to the kindly spirits, that she might live out her mournful days as shukenja, doing no more harm to anyone.
There before the altar at Gidoji the samurai threw down his sword, and fell to the ground, and wept when he thought of the things that he had done in the name of unquenchable vengeance, and in doing so his desire for vengeance was banished. His grief though would go on without end, and he would never return to Ashinan nor Korusbo nor to Sekibune, where in winter the Gendji cranes still come to dance by the rivers, two-by-two. Instead he went out from Gidoji, and in time away from Cho Lung, and in more time from the Farthest West altogether, to wander always in foreign lands. And with him went the shukenja who had been ninja, for she is the only one who feels his grief, and his guilt, even as he does himself.
*
Amatesu had spoken flatly, without emotion, but when she finished there were tears standing in her eyes. Zeb had whispered a translation for Nesha-tari, and several times his own voice had cracked. Nesha-tari’s eyes were dry, and wide.
Heggenauer stood in the middle of the room with his mace hanging loose in his hand, forgotten. He looked from the small woman in front of him to Uriako Shikashe. The samurai stood with his arms crossed and his swords sheathed, his face as cold and impenetrable as the mountains where he had been sent to die. John Deskata had come back to the doorway at some point and stood there, staring. Tilda was sitting against a wall with her face in her hands.
“Why have you told me this?” Heggenauer asked.
Amatesu looked up, and the tears rolled down her face. Her voice remained unchanged.
“I tell you because you should know that not everyone may choose their own masters. Yet it remains in our power to choose what we will or will not do for them, if we are willing to bear the consequences. I tell you this because Uriako Shikashe and myself have now traveled with the Madame Nesha-tari for nearly a third of a year, and no matter who she serves, we have seen her do nothing you would call evil. Though we know that at times this has pained her.”
Shikashe slowly drew the shorter of his two swords, and held the diamond-patterned pommel out toward Heggenauer. The priest stared at it before looking questioningly to Amatesu.
“If it is truly not within you to tolerate any who may have done evil, Brother Heggenauer, then you should begin with Uriako-sama and myself. I suggest you start with me, as I will not resist you.”
Heggenauer stared at the shukenja and the white steel blade of the sword, then took a step back, shaking his head. He looked at the Far Westerners and swallowed before speaking in a raspy voice.
“I am deeply sorry for you both.”
Shikashe nodded, and sheathed his sword with a snap.
“Can we go rescue Claudja now?” Tilda asked in a small voice.
Amatesu looked over at Zeb and Nesha-tari, who were standing together by a wall. Zeb was leaning against it, as he had actually forgotten to be afraid of the Dragon Cultist, and whatever else she was, for the last several minutes.
“Does Madame Nesha-tari agree that we may take the Duchess from this place?” Amatesu asked. Zeb asked the question in Zantish, and Nesha-tari frowned.
“What do I care?”
“She says yes,” Zeb said in Codian.
“And the wizard, Phinneas?” Amatesu asked.
Zeb asked that as well, and Nesha-tari thought for a moment before answering.
“The Shugak fear only what harm he could do with the book in Vod‘Adia. I merely wish to see that he does not use it to fulfill Horayachus’s purpose for the Duchess. So long as that is prevented, I do not give a fig for what happens to either of them.”
“Another yes,” Zeb said.
Amatesu nodded, and turned back to Heggenauer.
“Are you satisfied, Brother?”
The acolyte of Jobe looked at Nesha-tari, then around the room at the others who met his gaze.
“I am only trying to do what is right,” he said.
“That is as much as any of us can do,” Amatesu agreed.
There was silence, until John Deskata knocked on the doorjamb and jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
“Second watch, people,” he said. “Who wants it?”
Nesha-tari made no comment, and though she had not stood watch on the previous evening she moved through the door and out into the night.
Zeb made his way toward his pack and bedroll, passing by Tilda who was still squatting on her haunches with her back to the wall. He stopped and held a hand down to her. She took it and wiped her eyes with the back of a sleeve as she stood.
“Are you all right?” Zeb asked. Tilda nodded and did not quite meet his eyes.
“I’m fine. I just…I miss my family.”
Zeb squeezed her hand before he let it go, and Tilda looked at him.
“You?” she asked.
Zeb Warchild gave a short nod, for it was easier than saying he had never had any family for him to miss now.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Crossing the ruined section of collapsed wall had brought Phin, Claudja, and the legionnaires into a district of Vod’Adia very different than those which they had seen thus far.
When they had first entered the city the gnome hawking maps before the front gate had said something about the “noble district,” and Phin thought this must surely be it. Instead of long streets lined with the unbroken facades of row-houses, shops, and other small structures, here the buildings all had the character of grand manor houses, with peaked roofs and cupola towers, long stone porches with columns, and a few scattered outbuildings on individual plots of land. Each was surrounded by their own stone walls at least a story in height. The compounds did not form blocks but were all disconnected, nor did their arrangement seem at all geometric. Instead of defined streets, only irregular cobblestones paths wound among the estates. They occasionally formed squares or plazas around broken statuary and defunct fountains, with sections of bare dirt that had once surely held grass, flowers, or trees, though there was no trace of any plant life remaining.
Without the necessity of keeping to long streets the group should have been able to wind their way due south, but navigating the noble district proved difficult. As evening drew near the sun was often behind the great houses, and though the group managed to keep it on their right-hand side the irregular layout of the walled compounds kept them zigzagging and wandering. They did not seem to have made it very far into the district before the gray daylight began to fail, and the legionnaires started to look for a place to bed down for the night. They found a small, windowless building that had been some sort of smokehouse in one bare-dirt compound. The adjacent manor house was a formidable-looking structure with its doors and shutters intact, meaning that it had likely never been searched nor looted at a previous Opening. The legionnaires were not about to try it. They slept soundly or seemed to, as did the Duchess Claudja, while Phin stayed awake for several long hours bent over the book and a candle throwing cantrip light. He finished reading the tome through once, then lay awake for another hour in the darkness.
There was no repeat of the unearthly roaring that had shaken the whole city on the previous night, and everyone slept through and woke up hungry. They swallowed the last of their poor-quality food cold, and drained all but one water skin. That would hardly be enough to get them to midday, as walking the dry and dusty city was thirsty work. No one said anything about it.
They had wedged the smokehouse door shut with a dagger, and after removing the blade and letting the door swing open the Sarge crouched back and hissed. Over his shoulder Phin could see what seemed to be a strange rippling in the air, shadows washing over the manor house and its walled yard. The group edged outside and stared at the strangest sky any of them had ever seen, for high above the city streets the dome of mist seemed to run and shimmer in waves, covering Vod’Adia in dancing shadows.
“It is raining outside,” Claudja said, and indeed that must have been the case. The party stood as though they were beneath an inverted bowl of opaque glass, with someone trickling a bucket of water out over the top of it. Or else many people were crying their eyes out.
“Gods, I hate this place,” Ty mumbled, loud in the silent yard for there was no sound at all from the rain high above.
The group moved out of the compound through the open gate and continued to head as due south as they could manage. The Sarge and Ty led the way, while Rickard now trailed Phin and Claudja at the end of the line, keeping an eye on both of them. The group went on under the rippling gray sky through the swimming black world for an hour before reaching the open circle of another plaza, though this one was grander than the others they had passed through. There was no central dais nor shattered statuary, but the plaza was surrounded save at what seemed to be the cardinal points by four matching buildings, each of half a semi-circle and two stories tall. The ground floors facing the plaza all built wide open, like stalls for merchants. The surface of the street changed from dark cobbles to square blocks of several paces across, made of gray stone that seemed much lig
hter in color than it actually was after the days of unremitting blackness. There was no sign of life in the plaza nor in the buildings around it, and no movement apart from the rain shadows sheeting across its surface. The group started across for the southern exit, the three legionnaires with their swords at the ready.
Halfway across Ty called out, “Hey!” and loped forward. For a moment Phin saw a glint of gold, a coin on the ground, but when the legionnaire drew near it one great block beneath his feet fell away with a sharp scrape of stone on stone.
Ty dropped out of sight with a yelp, and before the Sarge could even shout his name the stone snapped back up and crashed into place with a boom and a shudder Phin felt through his feet. Rickard ran past him and joined the Sarge at the edge of the stone block that had pivoted open and shut. The gold coin was still a spot of color in the middle of the block, like it was fastened there.
“Ty!” the Sarge yelled at the ground, working the fingers of his good hand along the bottom of the stone. Rickard stepped onto the block beside the one that had swung down, and Phin held his tongue. The second block stayed where it was.
“Sarge?” Ty’s voice came from the ground, muffled and weak.
“Ty!” the Sarge yelled again, lowering his mouth to the crack. “Where are you, boy? How far did you fall?”
“Sarge, I think my leg’s broke. It’s dark. I can’t see.”
Rickard knelt and pushed on the trap stone, which scraped and moved about an inch toward open. Ty’s voice was a little louder, and he cried out in pain.
“Ty, hang on,” the Sarge shouted. “Don’t try to move, we are coming!”
Rickard leaned more weight on his arm and pushed the stone open a bit more, though it was going to take more force than that to pry it open all the way.
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