Fires of the Hidden City, Part Five
by
Rich
Wulf
Iuchiban
stood before the statue of Bishamon, looking up at the Fortune with a solemn,
thoughtful gaze.
“Greetings,
Fortune of Strength,” the Bloodspeaker said in a quiet voice. “I hope that you
can hear me.”
The
statue’s eyes were fixed upon the Bloodspeaker, burning with hatred. Its right
hand, the hand that once held a mighty spear, now clenched into an empty fist.
“Such
hatred you and your kind hold for me,” Iuchiban said to the statue. “I scarcely
understand it. The forces of fate and destiny have conspired for centuries to
undo all my works. Sworn enemies unite on the field of battle to destroy me.
Historians labor to heap shame and disgrace upon my name.” Iuchiban smoothed
one hand over his elegant white kimono. “Yet I am still here, and many still
choose to follow me. Are you jealous, perhaps, that for all the power you gods
wield, neither you nor your followers can truly bring about my end?”
The
statue remained silent stone.
“Or
is it fear?” Iuchiban asked. “You hide in the Celestial Heavens, Bishamon,
leaving your mortal children to do your fighting for you.”
Iuchiban
thought nothing of his blasphemy. He feared nothing from the Phoenix’s pathetic
gods. Let the Fortune of Strength fight, if he would. Iuchiban had already won.
When last he rose, he had moved for years like a shadow, stealing the bodies
and memories of others. He had learned of Gisei Toshi and Isawa’s Last Wish,
though he knew not where either lay hidden.
Isawa’s
Last Wish was a prize of incomparable value. A tool intended to bridge the gap
between mortal and divine, it offered incredible power to the one who could
master it. The power brought with it a price, offering tremendous punishments
to those who acted out of selfishness. Iuchiban knew from experience that all
prices could be circumvented if one planned carefully enough. In the end, the
Last Wish was an innocent living being, created by blood magic. Who else that
ever lived boasted command over blood magic to parallel his own? Who else but
Iuchiban could so defile and corrupt the hearts of the innocent. All he
required was a chance to study the Wish on his own terms, to gauge the depths
of its power and its weakness. He had roused an army to march upon the Phoenix
lands, to find and take what he desired. The clans had united to defeat and
imprison him, never even realizing his true goal.
Though
his body lay in chains for centuries, his power was not contained. Iuchiban yet
had the power to influence others beyond his prison. Through the Oracle of
Blood, he could issue commands to his followers. Through the eyes of other
Bloodspeakers, he watched the Empire. In the dreams of those consumed by desire
and ambition, Iuchiban’s influence could take root.
During
the War of Spirits, he found what he sought. He discovered a Shiba samurai by
the name of Kanjiro, a guardian of the Last Wish who ventured forth to defend
his homeland from the Steel Chrysanthemum’s army. Kanjiro, sadly, was resolute
and dedicated to his duty, a man of faith whose faith was rewarded with
blessings from his ancestors. Iuchiban knew the time would swiftly be
approaching when he would be free once more. There was little chance Kanjiro
might be foolish enough to reveal the Last Wish’s location to Iuchiban – but
Kanjiro had a son, who showed himself to be brash and tempestuous from an early
age.
Shield
that boy’s ears from the guidance of his ancestors, twist events so that the
living despised and ignored him, and that boy might do something desperate.
Create a war between the Phoenix and Dragon, a war where that boy might prove
himself, and that desperation was nearly guaranteed.
Iuchiban
looked at the iron lantern that rested on one of the temple’s many shelves, the
Dark Covenant of Fire. The finest servants were sometimes those who did not
even realize they served. Through centuries of searching, planning, and
preparation he had engineered this moment – a confrontation with the Last Wish
in a place where the old blood magic was strong, a place where he could safely
gauge its power. The Wish’s power was great, but he had tasted its weakness.
The Wish was but a child, unaware of its true nature or potential. Aikune had
surprised and impressed him, but only enough to escape for a time. When next he
found Aikune, the Wish would become his own.
If
there was anything Iuchiban had learned over the centuries, it was that time
was invariably on his side.
Sensing
a presence behind him, Iuchiban peered over his shoulder. A thin man in black
velvet robes awaited acknowledgment. His head was shaven in the manner of a
monk, but the mad gleam in his eyes suggested a zeal that transcended simple
piety.
“Migawari,”
Iuchiban said simply.
“Lord
Iuchiban, four of the seven temples have fallen,” Migawari reported. “Yet the Dragon
and Phoenix defend the last three firmly, and we have lost communication with
General Tadenori.”
Iuchiban
sneered up at the statue of Bishamon. The conquest of Gisei Toshi had never
been a necessary part of his plan, but to hear that such a feeble assortment of
opponents offered such resistance was upsetting.
It
was time to take a more personal role in this battle.
•
Normally the wind
in the high mountains would be fierce, frigid, and intolerable. At the height
of one mountain, the wind was calm and serene, as if unwilling to disturb the
two men at the peak. Nakamuro and Aikune had not seen another in years. Since
their bitter argument following the death of Yaruko, the woman Nakamuro had
loved and Aikune was to marry, each had avoided the other. Each had followed
his own path.
Now
their paths had crossed once more.
Nakamuro
stood, arms folded across his thin chest, watching his old friend silently.
Aikune sat upon a large stone, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at
nothing. His eyes were surrounded by deep black circles, as if he had not slept
in several days. His hands shook as he clasped them together, trembling from
the weakness Iuchiban had inflicted upon him. Occasionally he would whisper to
no one, so quiet that Nakamuro could not hear, presumably speaking to the Last
Wish. The Wish itself was barely visible as a wispy aura of white energy that
surrounded Aikune, no longer the blazing red fire he had seen in the caverns
underneath the City of Sacrifice. He did not wish to disturb Aikune’s thoughts,
but he could wait no longer.
“I
must return to Gisei Toshi, Aikune,” Nakamuro said, turning to look back in the
direction of the city. “With or without you.”
“I
am sorry, Nakamuro,” Aikune said in a low voice.
Nakamuro
looked back at his old friend curiously.
“I
am sorry for hating you,” Aikune replied. “Yaruko’s death was not your fault.
You loved her as I did, but I know you would do nothing to shame us. I was a
child, surrounded by enemies. I was a fool to turn away my only friend. If I
had trusted you sooner, perhaps none of this might have happened.”
“The
fault was not entirely yours, Aikune,” Nakamuro said. “I was angry as well.
That is in the past. When it mattered most, we stood together. If you choose to
return, I will stand beside you again.”
“You
would be better off without me,” Aikune answered.
Nakamuro
frowned.
“He
came for me,” Aikune answered. “He came for the Wish. We might have destroyed
him if we acted swiftly but…” he shook his head angrily. “I’m a fool. It’s only
a matter of time before he finds me now. I’ve given him the means to control
the most powerful magic in existence. The Wish can create mountains, reduce
cities to ash, and that is only a fraction of its true power. If Iuchiban
mastered it, he would become a god.”
“Iuchiban
has always had great power,” Nakamuro answered. “He has been defeated before.”
“Has
he?” Aikune asked. “He always returns, each time worse than the last. If he
takes the Wish from me, will we be able to stop him at all?”
“Iuchiban
would use the Wish selfishly,” Nakamuro said. “Such action has always led to
its user’s destruction.”
“I
do not think so, and neither does the Wish,” Aikune said. “The Bloodspeaker
knows too much about how the Wish functions. I think he could alter it, force
it to grant him power without cost.”
“If
we do nothing,” Nakamuro said, “then he has already won.”
“The
Wish believes that he has already won regardless,” Aikune said. “He has found
the Hidden City. No doubt he plunders its treasures as we speak. Our clan’s
greatest secrets are his now, and he will never stop hunting for us.”
“Perhaps
the Wish believes we have lost,” Nakamuro said. “Do you agree?”
Aikune
looked toward Gisei Toshi, his tired features fixed in a grim expression.
•
Isawa
Sezaru stood on the road to Kyuden Isawa, a porcelain mask covering his face.
The mark of the rising sun was emblazoned upon the forehead, a symbol of the
power that flowed through his veins, power flowing from the blood of the
Emperor as well as that of the Empire’s greatest shugenja. The mask had been a
gift from his mother’s family, a symbol of the great hope they had placed upon
him. He wore it only in battle, and now it was his honor to wear it in defense
of his mother’s home. As he saw the enemy finally draw into sight, he only
hoped that his skills would be up to the task.
A
mountain of flesh and stone rose from the forest, the shattered ruins of a
village bristling from its back. An enormous maw roared at the sky, studded
with teeth crafted of stone and steel. A massive fist pounded into the earth as
it dragged itself forward, tearing the ground apart as it moved. The creature
was as large as Kyuden Isawa itself and moved with incredible speed for
something its size. Sezaru could smell the Taint upon the air even at this
distance. Fear began to well up inside his soul, an unnatural fear he knew
radiated from the oni’s presence. He spoke the words of a simple spell, drawing
upon the courage of his ancestors and letting that courage wash over the
Phoenix army arranged behind him.
“By
the Fortunes,” Shiba Mirabu swore, paling at the sight of the enormous oni.
“How could anything be so large?”
“According
to Naka Tokei, this beast is in its infancy,” Sezaru replied. “With each soul
it devours it will grow larger, until the Kusatte Iru devours the entire world.
It cannot die until its hunger has been sated.”
Mirabu
looked at Sezaru in blank astonishment. “I have seen many terrible things,
Sezaru-sama, but this surpasses everything I have faced,” Mirabu said. “Can we
win this battle, Sezaru?”
Sezaru
looked at Mirabu, eyes fierce behind his mask. “If this creature is truly
destined to devour the world, we must face it eventually. Given the choice, I
would be the first to give my life in defiance rather than the last trembling
soul it consumes.”
“So
be it,” Mirabu answered. “My army stands with you, Sezaru, as do I.”
A
wave of heat passed overhead, and both men looked up to see a tremendous
serpentine dragon, hovering upon the wind. It looked down upon them with remarkably
human eyes. “The Elemental Council and the Grand Master are prepared for the
ritual, Sezaru-sama,” the dragon said, “but they need time.”
“Then
let us waste no more, Lord Satsu,” Sezaru replied.
“I
am uncertain of this solution,” Satsu said in a worried voice. “The ritual is
very specific in its requirements.”
“It
is not your sacrifice to make, Satsu,” Sezaru said. “Who are you to make that
choice for another?”
“It
is not easy to watch a friend die,” Satsu replied.
“Nor
is it easy to watch one’s clan die,” Sezaru answered. “Would you prefer that
alternative? We must accept the solution the Grand Master has offered us.”
•
Mirumoto
Kenzo slashed at the wall of advancing undead with his twin blades. His throat
was raw from shouting to his comrades, rallying the remaining Phoenix and
Dragon defenders as they slowly gave ground before the advancing undead. The
reality was swiftly becoming clear. The walls were breached, the city overrun.
There would be no victory here.
A
plume of flame from one of Tsukiro’s potions enveloped the advancing zombie
band, giving Kenzo a moment to regroup and study his surroundings. In the
square below he could see that the Bloodspeakers had already overrun four of
the temples. The gates of Fukurokujin’s temple stood open. Black robed
sorcerers emerged from the temple, bearing sacks and small wagons filled with
stolen artifacts.
“They
are looting the temples,” Mareshi said, appearing by Kenzo’s side.
“Then
we must do the same,” Kenzo said darkly.
Mareshi
looked at Kenzo in confusion.
“We
must empty the remaining temples,” Kenzo said.
“You
would loot our city, Dragon?” Shiba Marihito exclaimed, outraged. “You call
yourself our allies when you would so brazenly betray us?”
“Then
help us,” Kenzo snapped in reply. “The Bloodspeakers came to pillage your city
for these accursed treasures. We must deny them that victory if we can. Take
all we can carry, and destroy the rest.”
Marihito
continued to glower at Kenzo, still obviously not trusting the Dragon’s
motives. He nodded finally, unable to deny Kenzo’s logic. Kenzo quickly split
the Dragon and Phoenix forces into squads, each dispatched to clean out one of
the remaining temples. He led his own forces toward the temple of Benten,
closest to the encroaching invaders. Mareshi charged beside him, swords in
hand. Kenzo stepped through the doors of the temple and began shouting orders
to the Phoenix defenders. They were as confused as Marihito at first, but
quickly complied, stuffing whatever artifacts they could carry into scroll
satchels and furoshiki sacks.
Kenzo
turned to Mareshi, noticing a strangely distracted expression on his friend’s
face. “Is there a problem, Mareshi?” Kenzo asked.
“Something
familiar about this place,” Mareshi replied. “I feel almost as if I have been
here before.”
Kenzo
did not pause to consider Mareshi’s comment; there was simply too much to do.
He looked to the nearest shelf, overburdened with artifacts. Some were
recognizable: a small statue, a few swords, a skull, while others were bizarre
and foreign objects Kenzo could not begin to describe. Each was tagged with a
small descriptive scroll, all written in a cryptic Phoenix cipher. He was
taking a great risk, he knew, meddling with unknown artifacts like this – but
better he risk his own life and soul than give these weapons to the enemy.
Even
as he reached for the skull resting upon the nearest shelf, a cacophonous
explosion erupted behind him. The heavy wooden temple doors erupted in a shower
of splinters, hurling the guards that stood behind them into the walls. An
enormous creature shambled inside, walking on six legs, its body a skinless
mass of muscle and slick red blood. Its face was like a boar’s, with a long
snout capped with four long upturned tusks. It trampled another Phoenix samurai
and buried its tusks in the chest of a Dragon, hurling him across the room with
a gurgled scream.
Without
hesitation, Kenzo drew his blades and charged at the creature. It slashed at
him with his tusks but he parried with his katana, striking at the creature’s
throat with a fierce stab from his wakizashi. The creature’s rubbery hide
deflected the blade and it struck Kenzo in the chest with a heavy foot. The
Dragon flew back into the shelf he had been studying a moment before, the
forbidden artifacts of the Phoenix collapsing in chaotic heap around him. The
creature ignored Kenzo, charging onward to tear into the other defenders.
Kenzo
grunted in pain as he noticed a burning sensation in his chest. His armor had
begun to melt away where the creature had touched it. He quickly stripped of
his chest plate and cast it aside, noticing as he did so that his wakizashi’s
blade had also begun to crumble from contact with the demon’s flesh. He needed
something more to harm such a creature – no mundane blade would do.
Desperate,
Kenzo searched the refuse surrounding him for the blade he had seen a moment
before. He grabbed one, a wakizashi, only fitting to replace his ruined sword.
The blade shone a faint blue as he unsheathed it. Kenzo wondered what curse he
had laid upon himself by taking up a sword stored in such a place, but pushed
the thought aside as he leapt back into battle.
•
Shiba
Tsukimi was no stranger to battle. Though she was still young, she had fought
many battles against Yobanjin raiders and fought off bandit incursions in the
Phoenix lands. What her enemies lacked in training and superior weaponry they
made up for in cunning, and she had learned that a desperate enemy was the most
dangerous sort. An opponent left with no other options but to fight might make
sacrifices that you were not prepared to deal with.
The
Bloodspeakers learned that lesson now.
Her
katana slid effortlessly through the armor of an undead samurai, cutting him
from hip to shoulder. Behind him, a black robed sorcerer held forth a scroll
and began to speak words of magic. Tsukimi disrupted his focus with a kick to
the chest and bashed him across the face with the hilt of her sword. He fell
with a pathetic squeal, his ruined face a mess of blood and broken teeth. A
bolt of pure white lightning struck the earth only a dozen feet away, sending
several of the enemy flying. Tsukimi paid it no mind; she had fought beside
Soun often enough to know his magic. The bolt had scattered the last of their
enemy’s defenses. A large man in the once golden armor of a Lion samurai stood
before her, now blackened by fire. He looked down at Tsukimi with dead white
eyes.
“Akodo
Tadenori,” she said, holding her blade with both hands, raised at shoulder
height. Her soldiers formed in a phalanx around her, prepared to face the enemy
general. “We have come to free your soul with the gift of death.”
Tadenori
seemed to sigh. He drew his katana slowly, and as he did so a sickly black
smoke began to boil from his armor. The smoke became fire, until the ghastly
general radiated an unholy aura of flame. “If only you could,” he said in a
tired voice.
He
ran at Tsukimi, voice lifted in a monstrous roar. Asako Soun shouted to the
kami, and a white lightning bolt struck the general in the midst of his charge.
A brilliant explosion of white lightning and green fire washed over Tsukimi and
the others, and when it cleared the general was gone.
“Well
done, Soun,” Tsukimi said, impressed.
“It
was not me,” Soun replied, his eyes wide. “There is some other magic at hand
here. Some magic has taken Tadenori from the field.”
“Iuchiban?”
she asked.
“I
do not think so,” Soun said. “I sensed no corruption in the spell that
intersected mine.”
“A
mystery, but a blessing all the same,” Tsukimi replied. She gestured to the others,
quickly signaling the retreat before Iuchiban discovered what had become of his
general.
•
The
Kusatte Iru had only the dimmest recollection of its existence. It knew not how
it was summoned to this world, how long ago, or why it existed. It knew only
its hunger. It devoured all in its path, adding everything that it destroyed to
its being, growing larger and stronger as it devoured. When last it had risen,
magic had placed it in a slumber. It was unable to move, unable to eat, but all
the while the creature’s hunger grew. Already a savage monster, it had been
driven to greater depths of insanity.
Now
it could taste the life, taste the magic, taste the souls within the human city
that lay before it. They would be the first to feed its hunger. The demon
lumbered forward, gouging earth and splitting trees with its massive fists and
trunk-like legs. Armies of tiny creatures arranged themselves before the demon.
It held no fear for them; they would only be fodder.
For
a moment, the demon felt a strange twinge at the core of its twisted soul. The
feeling was forgotten as balls of fire and stone erupted from the army below,
launched by engines of war and mortal shugenja. They stung its flesh, causing
it to turn on them with an enraged roar. It lifted a granite fist, smashing it
into the nearest siege engine, flattening it and crushing the soldiers around
it.
The
demon felt another twinge, a sensation of drowsiness. It turned to find the
source, but a flash of fire moved across its vision. A sinuous dragon soared
past, leaving a trail of green flame in its wake. The Kusatte Iru grasped at it
with a mighty fist but was too slow; the majestic creature soared nimbly aside.
A mortal in bright red robes and a white mask soared into its field of vision,
unleashing a plume of black energy in the demon’s eyes. It shrieked and struck
out at him as well. The mortal dodged aside, but not quickly enough. The
demon’s fingers clutched the end of the flying man’s long white braid. The
demon roared and drove its fist toward the ground. The man quickly cut his
braid free with a long knife and dove clear barely in time to save himself.
The
demon lumbered forward, stomping easily through the mortal armies, its thick
legs tearing through the walls of the mortal city. It roared again as it lifted
its arms to smash the towering spire, but stumbled slightly. The creature’s
head drooped and its body wavered. The Kusatte Iru looked up with a roar,
realizing that the mortals were attempting to return it to sleep once more. It
turned, demonic senses scouring the area for the source of the magic. It turned
its eyes to the small grove beside the road to the city.
There.
The
demon moved forward again, moving effortlessly through the army. A flurry of
spells and siege attacks struck its flesh, tearing deep scars in its massive
body. The dragon soared across its vision again, seeking to blind it with fire.
The mortals knew it had sensed the truth, they sought to stop it. They were
powerless. The Kusatte Iru moved with a relentless certainty, tearing the trees
of the grove aside.
There,
in the center, a circle of four shugenja knelt in prayer. The demon could smell
the stench of elemental magic wafting from them – Fire, Water, Void, and…
Earth. The element which had drawn it into sleep centuries ago. The demon could
feel the sleep coming upon it now. It could feel the earth sucking at its legs,
pulling it into an eternal embrace. Yet the demon knew this ritual well – if it
was to return to its sleep then one must pay the price. The shugenja fled from
the clearing, spirited away by their magic. Yet one remained – the one that
reeked of the power of Earth.
“Return
to your slumber, monster,” Isawa Taeruko shouted, completing the spell.
The
Kusatte Iru drove one mighty fist into the ground, reducing the Grave of the
Five Masters to a crater. With a final, mournful cry of hunger it sank into the
earth and was seen no more.
•
Iuchiban
stepped through the doors of Bishamon’s temple, looking out at the ravaged city
with an irritated frown. The Dragon and Phoenix soldiers now fled the city,
many of them bearing loads of artifacts salvaged from the temples. Iuchiban’s
followers had already found a great deal of powerful items. Many of them would
be useful in his future war against the Empire even if the Wish escaped his
possession for the foreseeable future. Even so, it was the principle at hand.
This victory was his. In escaping with their forbidden knowledge, they hoped to
rob him of some small shred of that victory.
That
was unacceptable.
Iuchiban
drew upon his magic, lifting himself into the air. He drew upon the power of
blood that suffused the city, bending it to his command. His body radiated with
deep red energies. His eyes became orbs of solid black, portals to the deepest
pits of Jigoku. He unleashed his fury upon the retreating samurai armies,
reducing armored samurai to screaming heaps of boiled blood and melted steel.
The temple of Hotei collapsed upon itself at a gesture. He gestured toward the
vanguard of the retreating forces, prepared to collapse the mountains and block
their escape.
He
felt a familiar presence behind him. For once in his long life he was
astonished. All of his planning had not prepared for this eventuality. He
turned with a small smile to find Shiba Aikune waiting behind him, surrounded
in the Last Wish’s fiery aura.
“Come
to surrender what is mine?” Iuchiban asked.
Aikune
said nothing. The fire raged brighter around him, now sparkling with hints of
white and black. The buildings below him began to catch aflame. Aikune closed
his eyes, surrendering himself to the power. In an instant Iuchiban realized
what was happening – Aikune had found a way to defeat him.
Iuchiban’s
control of the wish was greater, but the Wish always displayed its greatest
power when its wielder lost control.
Aikune
exploded in a brilliant white flash of fire. Iuchiban desperately summoned his
magic, surrounding himself with a shield of blood. The fires tore into his
flesh regardless, leaving his once white robes now scorched and stained with
soot. Iuchiban fell to the earth, exhausted and weakened by the attack. Where
Gisei Toshi once stood was now a blasted crater, with the remnants of the
samurai and Bloodspeaker armies retreating into the mountains. Iuchiban
searched all about for any sign of Aikune or the Wish.
They
were gone.
•
Isawa
Nakamuro knelt in the ravaged earth near Kyuden Isawa. Carefully, gingerly, he
patted soil around the roots of a small sapling. A small forest of young trees
already surrounded the Master of Air.
“Like
a phoenix from the flame,” Shiba Ningen said, approaching his fellow master
along the path. “What was destroyed is born anew.”
“It
was not my choice to conceal Gisei Toshi from you, Ningen,” Nakamuro said in a
sad, tired voice. “Sometimes even I do not understand the traditions of my
family, and yet I abide by them.”
“I understand,” the Master of the Void replied in a sympathetic voice. “One cannot be a Shiba on a Council ruled by Isawa for so long and not come to comprehend your… eccentricities. If it softens the blow, I have long known about the city. I simply feared you might take insult if I revealed that fact.”
“No
insult taken,” Nakamuro replied. “Tsukimi told me how you sent her to bolster
our forces. You saved many lives, Ningen.”
“Yet
we lost many more,” Ningen said, looking out at the small forest. “The Council
is incomplete again.”
“We
brought this fate upon ourselves,” Nakamuro answered. “Too much division. Too
many secrets. Iuchiban did nothing to us that we would not have done to ourselves,
given time.”
“Iuchiban
still lives,” Ningen replied meaningfully. “If we mean to fight him, perhaps
the time for secrets is past.”
Nakamuro
looked at Ningen with surprise.
“I
am the Master of the Void, Nakamuro, and the Void’s power is that of truth,” he
said. “Do you not find it odd that Aikune could so easily lose control of the
Wish’s power after spending so many years mastering it? The Last Wish has only
consumed masters who are selfish or dishonorable. Aikune was neither. When I
think upon the history of the Wish, I recall that it has destroyed cities and
moved mountains. Could it not move a city?”
Nakamuro
only looked at Ningen silently.
“No
more secrets, Nakamuro,” Ningen said. “We must fight this enemy together. What
really happened at Gisei Toshi? Where has Aikune gone?”
Nakamuro
spoke words of magic to summon air spirits to shield their conversation from
being overheard, only to discover Ningen had already done the same. The two
walked together through the Grove of the Five Masters. They spoke of Shiba
Aikune and the true fate of the City of Sacrifice.