by Ree Soesbee
"Nightmares," Kachiko smiled. "Good.
"She still lives."
"Excellent. Then she may prove a better candidate than I had thought." Kachiko's smile grew sinister, her eyes narrow. "Open the screen."
Aramoro bowed fluidly and knelt beside the wide shoji doors of the guest suite. With an effortless pull, he slid the heavy wooden screen to the side, shifting it in its path so that it opened only far enough to allow the entrance of his lady, and no more.
Even the dim torchlight of the hallway seemed to be a brilliant sun compared to the darkness within. The samurai-ko knelt by the window, her hand resting on the stone sill. Her other arm, a stump, lay forgotten in her lap. The Mirumoto did not look up when the Mother of Scorpions entered the room, ignoring both the lady and her purposeful bodyguard.
"I see that you live," Kachiko said quietly, her soft voice resonating as she moved in the shadows.
"Do I?" Hitomi asked. "Is this life?"
Kachiko laughed, the tinkling of bells beneath the thunder of the storm. "Your clan might not say so."
"Make no mistake, Lady. My clan will come for me." Hitomi's voice was strident, forcing courage into words she did not believe. "My brother, Daini, and my cousin Yukihera, my friend Mitsu, and the entire Mirumoto house. When they know that I am here ..."
Kachiko smiled. It would be so easy to break her. "Hitomi-chan," using the familiar, Kachiko stepped closer to the wounded Mirumoto samurai. "I'm afraid not."
"What do you mean?"
The empress forced a bitter smile to her lips, her eyes glistening with false tears. "You must understand. I am certain that they believe you dead. They must have been told—seen you fall...."
"Daini, my brother, saw me fight the Crab. He saw the final strike, and I was able to signal him. He knows I am alive, and will have told the rest of the clan. Even now, they search for me. I do not know what magic you used to bring me here, but they will find you."
"Perhaps you are right." Kachiko agreed, stepping behind Hitomi and looking out at the black night sky. Lightning struck above her, illuminating her perfect features and thin lace mask. The burgundy of her ornate robes stood in sharp contrast to Hitomi's mottled, bloodstained gi. "If your brother knows you are alive, then they must be searching for you. Yukihera, the Mirumoto daimyo, has no reason to believe—"
Hitomi cut her off. "I am the Mirumoto daimyo."
Turning with a gently confused look on her ivory features, Kachiko withdrew a letter from her kimono. "I am sorry, Mirumoto-san, but I do not know how that is possible," she lied easily. "This letter says otherwise."
Unfolding it clumsily with one hand, Hitomi stared down at the neat kanji.
My servant,
By now you know that the daimyo of the Mirumoto is dead. Her life has been revered with full honor, and her soul is no more. On her death and at
her funeral ceremony, Mirumoto Daini, son of Mirumoto Shosan, abdicated his claim to the throne in favor of my experience and strength.
The Dragon will survive.
Yukihera Daimyo of the Mirumoto Lord of the Iron Mountain
Hitomi's face turned pale. "Daini knows I live. He watched ... watched me ... fall...."
"He watched you fall and did nothing?"
"No, he ... no. He is my brother."
Kachiko's caramel eyes looked down in pity at the younger woman. "If he knew, then why did he not tell Mirumoto Yukihera?"
"Yukihera wished for my position as head of the Mirumoto House." Hitomi struggled to put the pieces together. "How long ago—how long was I unconscious?"
"Fewer than two days."
"No. No!" Hitomi crumpled the letter and hurled it toward the wall. "You lie, as all Scorpions lie. Two days is not enough to give up hope. They must still be looking for me."
"Why would they? If you are dead on the battlefield, then the Crab have certainly defiled your body. There would be no remains." Kachiko carefully guided the conversation. "Your troops will have assumed that your flesh was used to feed the goblins that serve the Crab. If it had, you can be sure that there would be nothing left of you."
"Daini knows I live! He knows, and he would have told Yukihera."
"But Yukihera is daimyo, at Daini's request."
"How do I know this letter is truly from my clan?"
The Scorpion empress smiled. "You are still here, are you not? No Mirumoto guards are standing in the corridor, waiting to rescue you. Your clan is master of riddles and enigmas. Do you believe that they know you are here?"
Hitomi's eyes were cold. "They know."
"Yet they have done nothing to free you, or even to contact you. How can you question that they have given you up for dead?"
"Yukihera." Hitomi's eyes narrowed with fury. "He arranged this. He must have given Daini something to convince him to betray me. He has told the clan that I am dead, and now they follow Yukihera. Damn them all."
"You are dead to them," Aramoro whispered from across the room. "I saved your life. By the traditions of our people, that means your life is mine, until your debt to me is paid."
"Debt?" Hitomi snarled. "This ... life ... that you give me? This is nothing more than a rotting shell, samurai, and a ghost of what I was. You did not save me. You did not free me. You have only prevented the inevitable." She pointed toward the samurai's swords in his obi. "Give me a sword, samurai, and you will see my gratitude written in blood on your precious palace floor."
"Hitomi ..." Kachiko's face was a perfect mask of sorrow and friendship. "I know what it is to be forgotten, to have your clan abandon you and to be betrayed by those who should have loved you. I thought that we had saved your life when we took you from that battlefield. Perhaps we should have left you to die. It would have been kinder." Kachiko reached out to the samurai maiden, her scarlet kimono sleeve sweeping delicately against the floor. "But I feel that you are not yet done with this life. You have something undone. Some spirit still haunts you, as the spirit of my clan . . . my son . . . haunts me." Kachiko's soft brown eyes searched Hitomi's black ones. "I can feel your brother ... willing you to live."
Hitomi turned once more to the window and placed her fist on the stone lip of the wall. She closed her eyes as if in meditation and, with typical Dragon patience, sought something just beyond her grasp. Long minutes went by, but Kachiko only watched the Dragon sort through her anger. Finally, Hitomi opened her eyes. "It is best that I know the traitorous hearts of those I once trusted. I will not be so weak again. A debt... my life is yours. How fitting." Her face twisted into a wry half-smile. "It does not belong to the Dragon. No one else came to search for me?"
"My men saw no one. The fields were empty," the empress said. No need to tell her of the Kitsuki—it would only weaken the Scorpion's growing hold over this Mirumoto samurai. Kachiko risked a hidden glance toward a black obsidian box that waited in the corner of the room.
"Yokuni," Hitomi said in sudden revelation. "Why didn't you tell me of their treachery, Yokuni?" she whispered to the night. "You, too, have turned against me."
Hearing the Dragon Champion's name mentioned, Kachiko felt herself grow pale. She raised her fan and whispered. "Yokuni?"
Hitomi nodded, looking out at the storm. "He told me that he could not act to save me. My entire clan has denied me, left for dead in a pit of vipers."
Kachiko allowed the implication to fall unnoticed. "Even Yokuni has turned against you?" she whispered in seeming fear and awe. "I am surprised he did not kill you."
"He has no reason to kill me. I am already dead. What purpose can I serve? Look at me," Hitomi held up the ruined stump. "I am less than nothing. The Mirumoto traitors did not even bother to make certain I was dead. I can be no threat to them—or to anyone."
"We are alike, Hitomi-chan," Kachiko said, moving across the room. Her pale brown eyes locked on the black gaze of the Dragon samurai. "Our clans have abandoned us—mine by ruin and yours by treachery. We were once powerful, but now we are severed from our power. You have lost your hand,
and I have lost my power in the court. There are those who have said that I, too, should have died long ago. But I still live. I still fight. You can be strong once more."
"How?" Hitomi asked.
"You serve the Scorpion now, Hitomi-san, with bonds of your own blood. Open that box, and see your future." Her pale arm reached elegantly from the sleeve of the burgundy silk.
Kachiko pointed toward the obsidian box that rested on the far side of the chamber.
Glancing first at Kachiko and then at the box, Hitomi furrowed her brow. "I have no future. I am dead. My clan knows that. Why do you insist that there is more?"
"Because I have seen your spirit, and I know you are worthy. We are twinned in our sorrow—and in our revenge."
"You murdered the emperor. I have spent my life trying to avenge the murder of my brother." Hitomi's face was hard, and her voice was cold. "We are nothing alike."
"For a thousand years," Kachiko murmured, stepping lightly across the mahogany boards of the chamber floor. Her feet made no sound, sliding beneath her kimono effordessly,"the shugenja of my clan have kept secrets. But no secret was greater than this: the Obsidian Hand, and the Twelve Scrolls of Fu Leng. They were called the Black Scrolls, keepers of the Dark God's magic, and the hand was used to bind them with Shosuro's soul. Eleven of those scrolls still exist. Some were stolen by Yogo Junzo when the Scorpion feE. He is a traitor, even to us." Kachiko's amber eyes were steel, belying her soft movements.
"Eleven?" Hitomi said.
The empress nodded. "The scrolls were said to contain Fu Leng's very soul. For safekeeping, one was hidden long ago— and even the Scorpion do not know where. It is said that when they are opened, the Dark God will be truly free upon Roku-gan, and the empire will know his wrath. The Twelfth Black Scroll is forever lost... to stop him."
Taking her eyes from Kachiko, Hitomi strode across the room and reached for the box. The lid was strangely cold, almost like hardened ice beneath her fingertips. As she stroked the surface, looking for some latch, hinge or handle, the box began to shift under her hand.
Kachiko and Aramoro exchanged knowing glances as the Mirumoto continued to open the box. Either way, the future would be determined within seconds.
The lid opened, sliding aside with an enchanted click, and soft red velvet peeped from within the obsidian case. For a moment, Hitomi thought that there was a box within the outer shell, but in a moment, she recognized the object.
It was a hand, made of black glass. The fingers, long and thin, creased the aged silk cushion as though they had rested within the box for hundreds of years, yet no stain or dust marred the shining surface of the hand's obsidian sheen. Five black fingers gathered into a curved palm, the stone was carved intricately, with etchings that seemed almost scales upon the obsidian. From the hand, a wrist extended, jutting out of the smooth glass like shards of bone. The stone here was not smooth, but rather jagged and broken, torn from some statue through strength alone. A riddle, surrounded by smooth silks.
"And this?"
Kachiko did not answer Hitomi's quiet question, ignoring the bitterness in the Mirumoto samurai's voice. "Shoju knew that with the last Hantei, the Black Scrolls would begin to open. He attacked the Hantei to prevent that—and failed."
Looking closer at the red cushion beneath the Obsidian Hand, Hitomi thought she could make out stains where blood had touched the pristine fabric. "What is this thing that you offer me, Mother of Lies?" she asked.
"It is the Hand of Shosuro." Reverence touched Kachiko's low tone. "An artifact of the greatest Scorpion that ever lived— our Thunder, who fought against Fu Leng in the first war against the Shadowlands. My clan has held it since Shosuro's death, a thousand years ago. No one has ever been able to wear it. No one was worthy. Those who tried ..."
"Died." Hitomi looked down at the faint bloodstains on the cushion beneath the obsidian artifact.
"No." Kachiko corrected her. "They did not die, but they often wished that they had. I imagine them even now, their faces trapped within the glass, screaming forever between its black fingers and calling Shosuro's name."
"Why do you show me this?" Hitomi asked, looking down at the dark hand.
"Because I believe that it has chosen you. It is one of the last relics of my fallen clan. For a thousand years, since Shosuro returned from the first war with Fu Leng, the Scorpion have treasured it. It is our greatest relic, our most powerful tool— yet none have ever been able to unlock its mysteries. Shosuro herself once said that the hand was more than her flesh, and less than her soul. It is a mystery to us. The Thunders went into the Shadowlands to fight Fu Leng, and only Shosuro returned. All the other clans' heroes died there, but ours returned. We believe that this hand was the reason why."
"Why offer it to me?"
"Because I can." Kachiko smiled gently and turned away, her hips moving slowly beneath her thin silk kimono. Hitomi caught a glimpse of a scorpion, tattooed upon the empress's shoulder blade.
"This is why Yokuni could not come into the room. Its presence touched him. Perhaps even ... frightened him?" Hitomi whispered, so low that Kachiko had to strain to pick out the words.
The Bayushi empress's brow furrowed in concern, but Hitomi did not notice.
"The Hand of Shosuro," the Mirumoto pondered. "Will this help me avenge my brother? Restore my place in the Dragon Clan?"
"I cannot say. Its powers are unknown, even to me. But I can promise you that if you choose this path, the Scorpion will aid you in whatever revenge you choose to take. I can give you nothing more powerful."
"Why?" Hitomi stared up at Kachiko as the empress stepped smoothly to her side. "Why would you help me, when my own clan has turned against me? You always have another purpose, Scorpion. What do you gain?"
"Tomorrow, the emperor will announce that he seeks a new Emerald Champion. You will enter the tournament— and you will win. With the power of the Emerald Magistrates, you will be able to crush the Crab, and have the status you need to reclaim your position as head of the Mirumoto House. I will gain control of the Imperial Guard, and all the magistrates of the empire, through you. My purpose is to ensure my own safety from the vipers in this palace, to make certain that though my clan has fallen, I still have power in the court. Your aid can assure that—and this hand can give us both the strength we deserve."
"You swear this, on your life?" Standing with the box in her hand, Hitomi stared into Kachiko's face, and saw what everyone saw there—perfect, impassive beauty, her features accentuated by the delicate lace mask that hid only her true purpose.
Perhaps Hitomi guessed there was more to Kachiko's gift, but she couldn't possibly know what. Perhaps she realized they were a perfect match; a poisonous Scorpion and a fallen Dragon.
"I swear it." Kachiko's eyes were clear, her voice even.
"Then let it be so. If you can give me the means to destroy my enemy and restore my title, then I will be your sword." Drawing the hand from its silk cushion, Hitomi caressed the cracked glass. It was smooth under her fingertips, sharp and solid, and surprisingly warm.
Kachiko took a single step back as the Mirumoto samurai withdrew the artifact from its box, a whisper of breath escaping her slightly parted lips.
Looking down at the Obsidian Hand, Hitomi felt the sharp protrusions that jutted out from its rocky base. They felt like shards of bone, shattered by some immortal blow and torn from its place. "What is this thing?" Hitomi murmured to herself, holding it before her with cautious hands.
At the sound of her voice, or the touch of her breath upon the glass, everything changed.
XXXXXXXX
Hitomi stared down into the glass, noting its silk texture and sharp edges. The Obsidian Hand was as smooth and cold as ice. It rested delicately within the box, drinking in the light around it and casting shadows that moved and shifted beneath its fingers. A strange luminescence gleamed within the artifact, sharp and reddish. Around Hitomi, the shadows clustered closer, as if to gain sustenance from the hand. Its jut
ting stump began to drip a bloody crimson, falling on the floor in splashes of scarlet and black.
The fingers flexed convulsively, gripping at Hitomi's good hand in a vice of iron and stone. The hand squeezed as if alive and held tightly to Hitomi's fingers, piercing her flesh with sharp shards of glass. Below, where the stump of the hand bled, thin tendrils of shadow began to form, writhing like worms against the hard glass surface of the hand.
"Put it on," Kachiko whispered, her voice deadened by the thick shadows that surrounded them.
At her side, Aramoro stepped forward, holding his sword at the ready, staring intently at the artifact.
Kachiko's face was exuberant, her eyes gleaming behind her mask, lips faintly smiling in eagerness and wonder. "Call to Shosuro's spirit within the hand. She will aid you. Let her spirit take its form in you."
It was far too late to let go, too late to change her mind. Hitomi raised her right wrist for one final look at the seared flesh beneath. Then with sudden exhalation, she forced the stump of Shosuro's Hand onto her own.
A scream, a thousand worlds away.
A howl that was not her own.
Become the riddle.
The ancient words flashed through her mind as the hand whispered and roared into life. Hitomi watched in fascination as the shadowy tendrils of Shosuro's Hand clutched her own skin, searing through her flesh with black flames and shadow smoke. They writhed within her own arm, turning the skin to stone and merging with her veins. For a moment, Hitomi could feel the cold black glass against the burning stump of her wrist, but then, a feeling of wonder and awe filled her. The nightmare tentacles crept up her arms, turning the thin veins to black beneath the surface. A sudden wave of heat and power swept through Hitomi.
Shosuro, she thought. Aid me....
Hitomi's back arched with energy, driving her good fist down to the floor and cracking the heavy mahogany boards.
Another scream. This one might have been her own, but Hitomi was too enraptured to notice. The pain was monumental, but the feeling of unbelievable strength and of tendrils racing through her bloodstream was greater. Pain flooded through her, tearing at her mind and pushing her toward the edge of madness.
