Fires of the Hidden City, Part Four

by Rich Wulf

In the forests near the Vigilant Keep of the Monkey, there was a waterfall. It was not a particularly large waterfall, and thus most people did were not unduly impressed by it, with the exception of one man. One man found this a place of peace, for the spirit that dwelled in the waterfall was a curious, friendly sort, eager to share stories of what the water had seen. Today that man sat on a stone in the center of the pool as water thrummed upon his shoulders, eyes closed as the his tormented soul sought balance.

His eyes opened suddenly. He sensed a powerful presence seething in the air around him, greater than the minor spirit that lived in the falls. He recognized it immediately, though the new arrival’s power had grown since their last meeting. A young man stood at the edge of the pool, arms folded across his bare chest. His head was shaven in the manner of a monk. Brilliant tattoos were painted over his arms and torso.

“Togashi Satsu,” he said in his deep, steady voice. “When last we met, I warned you of a dark future for your clan… a future you have now prevented. You have some measure of your grandfather’s strength, it seems.”

The Dragon Champion bowed. “I need your help, Grand Master,” he said. “Iuchiban rises, in Phoenix lands, but I know not where. I need your wisdom again.”

“Iuchiban?” Naka Tokei said.

“My own soldiers face the Bloodspeaker,” Satsu said. “I do not know where he is, or what he plans, but I believe together we could find him.”

“Yet you wonder if we should,” Tokei said. “Iuchiban has awakened the Sleeper. Surely you have sensed this as well.”

Satsu nodded gravely. “The Kusatte Iru marches toward Kyuden Isawa, obviously intended to distract us while the Bloodspeaker carries out his true plans.”

“That it is a distraction makes the demon no less dangerous,” Tokei said. “The Kusatte Iru must be returned to its sleep, for the world’s sake and for its own.”

“For its own?” Satsu asked, surprised.

“All things must serve their purpose, even a demon,” Tokei answered. “One day this world must die, and the Kusatte Iru must be there to kill it. That day is not today. What Iuchiban has done must be undone.”

Satsu bowed his head in solemn acknowledgment. “Yet whatever he undertakes himself is surely as great a danger. I am faced with two evils, yet can only fight one. What must I do?”

“Do you trust your soldiers, Satsu?” Tokei asked. “The ones that you say face the Bloodspeaker now?”

“They are among the finest samurai I have ever known,” he replied without hesitation.

“Then trust them,” the Grand Master replied. “While we fight the threat we can see.”

•

Mirumoto Kenzo stood with a sword in each hand, staring out at the shattered heap of rubble that only minutes before had been the north wall of Gisei Toshi. A look of resigned anger was etched upon his face as a cloud of white dust rolled over him.

Since his arrival, the red light that shone from the city walls had disturbed him. There was something primal and violent about it, something that stirred caution in every fiber of his being in the same manner as black storm clouds or a large predator. Though still wary, he had become used to the light. The Isawa claimed it was a sort of magic that hailed from before the Empire, a style of wards that they had long since set aside but still protected the ancient city. Kenzo had promised himself that he would investigate the manner more thoroughly once the city was safe. With the glowing walls serving as the only true protection against the Bloodspeaker armies, he allowed himself to set aside his inherent suspicion toward unfamiliar magics somewhat.

Now he hated himself for the compromise. The Bloodspeaker armies had withdrawn from the north wall shortly after Nakamuro vanished. The wall shone an angry red, a deeper color than Kenzo had seen before even during the most intense assaults, and tore itself apart from within. The Bloodspeakers had known it would happen. They had turned Gisei Toshi’s magic to their own advantage. Three dozen samurai, Shiba archers as well as his own Mirumoto troops, had guarded that portion of the wall. Now all had been devoured by the crumbling rubble. Now it was only a matter of time before the city was overwhelmed.

“Defenders of Gisei Toshi, to me!” Kenzo said, scrambling atop the heap of fallen stones. “Guard the breach!”

A few of the city defenders looked at Kenzo in surprise, unwilling or unready to obey the orders of a Dragon. Most others quickly set aside their doubt. Phoenix, Dragon, and Imperial Legionnaire filled the breach, swords and bows held at the ready. They waited for the attack to come, for the ranks of shambling undead and mad blood sorcerers to charge the broken walls.

The smoke rolled aside, revealing orderly ranks of Bloodspeaker zombies patiently waiting beyond. Their bloodstained war banners snapped on the mountain wind, carrying the smell of the rotting dead toward them. A cold sensation spread through Kenzo’s body as he recognized one of the defaced standards.

“Why don’t they attack?” Mareshi asked, standing beside Kenzo. “Why do they wait?”

“Their general is more clever than that,” Kenzo said. “He has our fear now. He will use that.”

Kenzo said no more, only held his swords steady and watched the enemy army with a bleak expression. A single figure stepped forward from the ranks, a pale man in a flowing black robe, carrying no weapons. His face was gaunt, and etched with scars in strange patterns. His eyes were bloodshot and slightly yellowed. He looked up at Kenzo with an eager expression, pausing a short distance from the foot of the broken wall.

“Defenders of Gisei Toshi,” the man said, holding out his hands to show that he was unarmed. “I come to you in the name of General Akodo Tadenori, who once was one of you. He applauds your valor in resisting us thus far, and your cleverness in removing Yajinden. I have come to offer you a chance to surrender without shame, and relinquish the secrets of Gisei Toshi to us!”

“Are they mad?” Mareshi whispered under his breath.

Kenzo looked at Mareshi.

“Foolish question, I suppose,” Mareshi said soberly, turning back to down at the Bloodspeaker army.

“We are not without mercy,” the man said, smiling as he slowly walked toward the city. “All of you who bow before Iuchiban shall be offered a place among us, once the measure of your loyalty has been determined. You have proven yourselves to be worthy foes. We would not deny you the opportunity to join us as allies. Let your strength combine with ours, and in that union…”

The man cut off shortly, an arrow lodged in his chest. He fell to one knee, looking down at the bleeding wound in puzzlement. Kenzo scowled, glancing over the ranks to determine who had fired without his order.

Blood spilled over the Bloodspeaker emissary’s white robes. “So this is your answer,” the man said with a chuckle. “Here is Iuchiban’s reply!” The Bloodspeaker seized the arrow and tore it free of his body. As he did so, he fell backwards, his body suddenly exploding from the inside. A cloud of boiling blood washed forward, more blood than could possibly be contained within a single man, carried on the wind. Kenzo swore and covered his face, but could feel the heat wash over him, heard the startled cries of his fellow samurai.

Then the creak of armor and the hiss of steel followed, as the Bloodspeakers charged into the bloody steam.

•

The caverns beneath Gisei Toshi were dark now, illuminated only by the red flames that enveloped Shiba Aikune’s brilliant orange armor, the light of Isawa’s Last Wish. Iuchiban held his curved dagger in one hand, watching Aikune with a patient, knowing smile. Isawa Nakamuro lay collapsed in the corner, unconscious from the pain of Iuchiban’s attack. Aikune was surprised that Nakamuro had stood up to the Bloodspeaker at all; he had thought the man a coward. Ironic that he had misjudged his old friend just as so many had misjudged him in the years since the War of Spirits.

“Why do you hesitate to strike me?” Iuchiban asked, circling around Aikune as he slowly advanced. “I am Iuchiban, leader of the Bloodspeakers. I have defiled your City of Sacrifice. You have come all this way to destroy me. Why pause now?”

-Kill him, Aikune.-

The Last Wish sounded angry, eager to strike down the Bloodspeaker. Aikune found himself hesitating. This smelled of a trap. He stepped away, one hand moving to his sword. “You knew that I was coming,” he said, watching Iuchiban carefully. “How?”

“Why should I bother to explain?” Iuchiban replied. “Have you not come to fight?”

The Bloodspeaker lunged forward with his knife. Aikune stepped backward drawing his katana just as a brilliant plume of red energy suffused the weapon. He parried Iuchiban’s attack, melting the dagger in a blinding flash. A second stroke slashed the Bloodspeaker across the chest, sending him flying against the wall, robes crackling in flame. Iuchiban lay flat on his back only for a moment before rising to his feet once more, face devoid of expression. His wounds were already healed, save the slash across his chest.

-Kill him!-

“Nothing has changed, Aikune,” Iuchiban said, looking at the deep wound in his chest. “You have power in abundance, but you lack understanding of that power.” With a sneer, he reached into the gaping hole in his chest with a soft tearing sound. His hand tore free again, streaming with his own blood. The blood fell free for a moment then suspended in midair, forming into the shape of a katana. As the weapon formed, Iuchiban’s wound healed.

“You know nothing about me,” Aikune replied.

“You stand in the shadow of the mountain and wonder why you cannot see,” Iuchiban replied. “I stand atop the mountain. I see that you are nothing, son of Shiba Kanjiro. You dance like a puppet on my strings.”

-KILL HIM!-

Aikune resisted the Wish’s urgings no longer. He pointed his blade at the Bloodspeaker and unleashed a torrent of raw power, blazing in a white column toward Iuchiban. Solid stone burned turned to ash before the Wish’s onslaught. When the light died away, Iuchiban was gone.

Startled by the ease of his victory, Aikune kept his sword ready. He glanced about the cavern, painted as it was in dancing red shadows cast by the Wish’s light. He could see nothing, though he sensed that the Bloodspeaker had not been banished from this place.

“That,” Iuchiban’s voice echoed from all directions at once, “is true power. Every bit as impressive as I expected. Yet, once again, no true wisdom directs it.”

“How do you know about the Wish?” he asked. “How do you know my father’s name?”

“Many years ago, there was a mortal who admired the gods so much that he sought to create a gift for them,” Iuchiban’s voice said. “Some might have called him arrogant, but his goal was only to understand that which he loved so greatly. His last wish was to bridge the gap between mortal and immortal, to create a means by which men could understand the gods. How did that story end, Wish? What happened to your father?”

-Why is he talking about my father?-

“Show yourself, Bloodspeaker!” Aikune demanded.

“The gods that your father loved so much sent Isawa to die, didn’t they, Wish?” Iuchiban said, “He fought Fu Leng while they hid in their palaces, and he perished! Then the Emperor, the son of a god, hid you so that you would be forgotten. That is how the gods reward those who would seek to understand them.”

-Why is he saying these things, Aikune?-

“Ignore him,” Aikune snarled, still glaring in all directions for any sign of Iuchiban.

“Yes ignore me, as they all ignored you,” Iuchiban said. “Do not seek to understand me. Why should you? Perhaps you might find that we are more alike than you know. Despised by the Empire. Imprisoned for centuries where our greater power and intellect would not bring harm to those too foolish to understand, or too lazy to try. We are more alike than Aikune would have you believe, Wish, but why should you care? Power is greater than wisdom, is it not? Is that now what Aikune would have you believe? Is it not better to control a worthless pawn like him than to stand beside an equal?”

-You are killing father’s people! Why should I believe anything you say?-

The Wish now spoke directly to Iuchiban, its voice seething with anger. Aikune’s eyes widened; the Wish had never communicated in such a way before.

“The same people who imprisoned us both,” Iuchiban answered. His voice no longer held its mocking tone, but seemed urgent and sincere. “Besides, why should creatures like the two of us care about matters such as life and death? We are beyond such concerns. If you wish to be with your father again we can find a way to return him! Consider this, Wish. Your destiny was to help ungrateful mortals understand unworthy gods. Why not use the power they have given you to find your own destiny?”

-How?-

Aikune concentrated upon the Wish’s power, tried to fill the caverns with magical fire in hopes of driving Iuchiban’s disembodied spirit away. Nothing happened. He met true resistance; the Wish was unwilling to comply. The Wish was listening to Iuchiban.

“Begin by questioning, as you have done, Wish,” Iuchiban said. “Do not follow blindly, as Aikune would have you do. He obeys the Phoenix without consideration for how they treat him. Is that the fate you desire? Did he not force you back into solitude, after you had found a path to freedom?”

“Silence, Bloodspeaker!” Aikune demanded.

“Did he not only return you to your father’s Empire so that he could destroy me, a soul whose fate thus far has been so similar to your own?” Iuchiban continued, his voice now heated with righteous anger. “Separate yourself from this pawn, and I will help you gain the strength to find your true path.”

Aikune sensed hesitation, uncertainty. Isawa’s Last Wish was a construct of raw power, but it years of solitude had seeded it with deep loneliness, a longing to be a part of the Empire that had always returned its innocent curiosity with hatred and fear. The atrocities Iuchiban practiced on humanity were obvious – but the Wish was not human. It only truly knew death as the force that had taken its father away.

-I want to understand. I want to bring father back. Can he really help me?-

The Wish spoke only to Aikune now.

-Aikune what should I do? Everything is always so clear to you.-

The sincerity of the comment surprised him. Aikune’s life had never been anything but clear. He had lost his first love to a war he did not understand. He lost his best friend to a brash argument thereafter. His father had died pursuing a duty he never knew. His mother left to fulfill an obligation to the immortal soul that had founded their clan. The ancestors ignored him. His clan spurned him as an unworthy successor to a noble line. Even now, he alone stood against Iuchiban though he was exiled from his clan. He had every reason to doubt his faith in an Empire that cared little for him, his loyalty to a clan that had only ever valued him for the power the Last Wish brought. Why should he fight?

Honor?

“Decide for yourself, Wish,” Aikune said. “Do you think this is what Isawa would have wanted?”

-I have made my decision, Iuchiban.-

Aikune felt the Wish’s doubt fade, replaced with a silent anger.

And with that, Iuchiban reappeared from the darkness.

-KILL HIM AIKUNE!-

Aikune extended one hand, releasing a plume of fire toward the Bloodspeaker. Iuchiban parried the flame with his sword of blood as if it were a solid object, still connected to Aikune’s hand. He seized plume of fire in his free hand and pulled hard. Pain seared through Aikune’s body, a sensation more intense than any he had felt before. The Wish echoed that pain, screaming in frightened agony. The aura of flame around Aikune’s armor flickered uncertainly.

“I don’t care what either of you decided, really,” Iuchiban replied. “I’ve spent centuries of imprisonment seeking a way that I might turn the Wish to my whim. All I required was a moment to study it firsthand, to see if what I suspected was true.” He twisted the plume of fire in his hand. Aikune and the Wish screamed again. “You are a unique creation, Wish, and I confess I do not begin to comprehend how Isawa made you… but I understand enough. Like this city, you were founded on blood magic. Like Gisei Toshi, you are mine.”

Aikune struggled through the pain, gathered some measure of the Last Wish’s Power. Iuchiban seemed to sense his struggle and sneered. “Idiot Phoenix, cease resisting me,” he said. “I am immortal, and the Last Wish draws upon the same power that makes me so. Fighting will gain nothing. You will drown the ocean before you ever harm me.”

-He is right, Aikune. We cannot kill him!- The Last Wish was terrified.

“We can do more than kill,” Aikune whispered.

A suspicious look crossed Iuchiban’s features. He looked over his shoulder as Isawa Nakamuro, now fully healed, hurled Bishamon’s spear at the Bloodspeaker’s chest. The weapon landed solidly, impaling Iuchiban to half its length. Iuchiban fell backwards, snarling in pain, his concentration broken.

It was not much, but it was enough. Aikune staggered away from the Bloodspeaker. Nakamuro seized Aikune by the arm and launched himself straight up through the tunnel leading to the surface, carrying his former friend and the Last Wish away from Gisei Toshi as swiftly as he could.

•

Shiba Tsukimi reined in her horse at the mouth of the pass, staring in shock at the sight that lay before her. She had not expected the city to be so large. She had also not expected it to find it so overrun by the Bloodspeaker armies. The entire northern wall had crumbled to nothing. Undead troops and Bloodspeaker soldiers had swarmed the city.

“We are too late,” Gyukudo said. “The city has been overrun.”

“No,” Tsukimi said, scowling. “I refuse to believe the Phoenix have fallen. There.” She pointed at the rear of the Shadowlands army. A bloodstained Akodo mon snapped upon the breeze.

“The command staff,” Gyukudo replied. “What of them?”

“They have left themselves exposed,” Tsukimi replied. “We have a relatively small unit. A swift attack, and we might eliminate the Bloodspeaker officers.”

“That will not end the attack,” Gyukudo said.

“No,” Tsukimi replied, “but we might gain some small degree of vengeance for what they have done. Soun, can you summon some sort of smoke or fog to conceal us until we draw close?”

Soun looked at her, surprised. “The risk will be great,” he said. “If we do not strike and withdraw swiftly, the army will take notice.”

“Yes or no, Soun?” she asked.

“Yes,” he replied, taking a scroll from the pouch at his hip.

“What will we do if Iuchiban is among them?” Gyukudo asked.

“As much damage as we can, before we die,” she replied. “If Gisei Toshi falls today, the Bloodspeakers will suffer as well.”

Her troops regarded her in silence, but none argued. They were loyal men, one and all. Tsukimi had hoped she would be forced to ask them to die for her, but that day had come.

With the soft words of a shugenja’s prayer, a dense fog rolled over the Phoenix troops. They charged into the valley, the magical cover following them, the sounds of battle covering their approach. With the Bloodspeaker general’s tent in sight, Tsukimi drew her sword and announced their arrival with a defiant cry as they crashed into the rear of the attacking army.

“My life for the Phoenix!”