Forgotten Lore
by
Shawn
Carman
The Crab lands, centuries ago…
Kuni Nakanu squinted and brought the lantern closer, trying to locate even the tiniest change in the tissue. The body had first been exposed to the Shadowlands nearly twelve hours ago. The change would come soon, but for the moment there was little danger. Nakanu noted a slight discoloration around the wounds that had killed this particular peasant, and made a notation in his most recent scroll. It appeared as though there was some variation in the time it took for Jigoku’s influence, this odd power he had come to refer to as the “Taint” to seep into a corpse. Many factors seemed to affect the process, including cause of death, extent of the wounds, and other variables. From a scholarly standpoint, it was quite fascinating. It was as if evil was a tangible, physical element, like an invisible, viscous liquid. If one was not cautious, he could drown in it. The ramifications of his discoveries were too important to ignore. If the Shadowlands continued to slowly expand as they had, toward the lands of the Hiruma and his own family’s lands… it was too unsettling to dwell upon.
There.
Nakanu’s eyes widened. A slight twitch in the corpse’s left arm. It was
something that might be dismissed as a spasm from corpse settling into death
now that the soul had departed, but experience had taught Nakanu differently.
Pleased with the results of his observation, he rolled up the scroll and placed
it with others. Nakanu quickly took the iron chains that hung from his
workshop’s walls and shackled the corpse’s legs. When it awoke and became more
mobile, it would pose no threat. As he closed the left manacle he noted with
some satisfaction that the hand had balled into a fist, seemingly of its own
accord.
That
grisly task accomplished, Nakanu turned to the stack of recent scrolls he had
completed. He placed the scrolls carefully in a hollowed out section of the
floor, covering them with a heavy stone. The old shugenja spoke a brief prayer
as he did so, purifying the stain that the touch of dead flesh had left upon
his soul. The work he was doing would be considered revolting and probably
blasphemous to many, but the Crab would have great use for Nakanu’s findings.
His sensei, a wise and unappreciated man, had always taught that to defeat an
enemy, one must first understand them. Thus far, the Crab had precious little
understanding of their foes, and it cost the lives of brave warriors every day.
Nakanu would gladly suffer any punishment for his research if he could prevent
such loss.
Nakanu
looked over the most recent scrolls, adding a comment here or a diagram there
to reflect today’s examination. Already the shugenja could see support for
several of his theories. Other observations would need further study before they
could be verified. The Taint, it seemed, not only could befoul the living, but
would also create a semblance of life where there was none. The undead legions
his clan had faced in the War Against Fu Leng were perhaps not all intentional
creations of the Dark Kami and his followers – many may well have risen of
their own accord.
There
was a stirring sound behind him, where his older test subjects were chained
until he could determine if they had further use. He glanced casually over his
shoulder, more from annoyance than concern or curiosity. The beasts did not
possess the manual dexterity to free themselves. The chains were Kaiu steel, so
he did not fear their escape.
Cold,
dead hands seized his legs even as he turned. The noxious stink of decaying flesh
filled his nostrils and he felt brittle, rotten teeth tearing at the cloth of
his kimono at the calf. Nakanu shouted in surprised and kicked viciously. His
sandal sank into the crawling corpse’s flesh sickeningly, but drove the beast
away. It took a shuffling movement forward, one hand reaching for Nakanu. The
shugenja spoke a word of power, surrounding himself with a ward of blazing
energy. Nakanu looked at the chains and realized in terror that they were still
intact. The creature had torn its own legs from their sockets to escape its
manacles.
Nakanu
tried to ignore the freezing pain that spread out from the bite. Tatters of
rotten flesh hung from the beast’s mouth, and it chewed with the detached
laziness of an oxen. Its dead, empty eyes stared at Nakanu impassively. The
burning in his leg was intense, and Nakanu felt fluttering panic as he
considered the probability that it would become Tainted if left untreated. As
he knelt to whisper a spell of healing over his wound, the legless corpse
crawled toward the other chained dead. Seizing the manacles of the nearest, it
began to heave. The other corpse stood, pulling at its bonds as well, combining
its strength with its fellow to yank its chains free. Nakanu summoned another
spell and gestured toward the undead thing. A cascade of yellow fire suffused
the two corpses.
It
was only at the last moment that he realized his error. Uncaring of the damage
the fire did or the pain it would have dealt a living creature, the flaming
undead charged toward Nakanu. Nakanu had time only to cast one final spell
before its chains sliced through the air, connecting with the old shugenja’s
skull with grim finality.
Nakanu
had always feared that his studies might escape his control. He had feared this
day, and he had planned for it. The entire building shook with the force of a
sudden explosion, shattering pottery containers and various delicate
instruments all across the room. Nakanu fell to his knees beneath the weight of
a falling beam, blood streaming into his eyes. Through the fog that clouded his
mind, Nakanu saw that the collapse had freed the other corpses he had chained
to his wall. They would likely not escape before the fires consumed his
laboratory. At least, he hoped they would not.
His last thought as the zombies fell upon
him was gratitude that his work, at least, would one day be found.
•
A monastery in the Spine of the World
Mountains, the present
Miya Shoin coughed as he stepped
into the cavernous library, waving away the cobwebs with one hand as he squinted
into the darkness. Row upon row of tall wooden racks receded into the shadows,
each stacked high with dust-covered scrolls. Though he knew many hours of
painstaking work lay ahead, recording and restoring the scrolls, he could not
help the giddy excitement that filled him at the discovery.
“How
long has this been here, Yozo?” he asked, turning to the shaven-headed monk who
carried a torch beside him.
“Decades,
sama,” Yozo said softly.
“Why
such sadness, my friend, this is a fantastic discovery,” Shoin replied. “Think
of the wisdom that a place such as this has locked away!”
Yozo
bowed his head slightly. “This place was hidden for a reason,” he said.
“Decades ago, Yogo Junzo hunted the Brotherhood in a mad quest to destroy the
descendant of Shinsei. He burned our libraries as he went, destroying our lore
as he slaughtered our brothers. Many of the monks here valued their wisdom more
than their life, and kept its secrets hidden. Thus, this library survived the
Clan War. The monks who once tended it were not so fortunate. Their entire sect
perished, but Junzo never found their treasured scrolls. To you, this is a
library, Shoin-sama. To my order… it is a tomb.”
“I
see,” Shoin said solemnly. “I intended no disrespect.”
Yozo
nodded. “They Miya have ever been close friends with the Brotherhood. This is
why we chose to reveal this to you. We hope that you might take what you find
here, present it to the Imperial Libraries. Hopefully the sacrifice our
brothers made may yet benefit the Empire.”
“I
will do my best,” Shoin said. “The Clan War and War Against the Darkness wiped
out many of our greatest archives. This is a rare and precious gift.”
“Some
of my brethren have begun to search these scrolls,” Yozo replied. “Already we
have found this.” The monk reached into the satchel at his side, offering the
scroll to Shoin.
The
Imperial Herald’s eyes widened when he saw the title upon the scroll. “This
cannot be,” he said. “This book cannot exist.”
“It
can,” the monk said, “and it does. Take it, please.”
Shoin
reached for the scroll with a trembling hand and unrolled it slightly, glancing
quickly at its contents. “This is one of Nakanu’s scrolls,” he said. “His
research is the foundation of all maho, black magic.”
“And
also the foundation of our understanding of the Shadowlands Taint,” Yozo said
plaintively. “Its contents are of concern if one intends to use them to evil.
They are, of course, only words.” He shrugged. “Is a hammer evil because it can
be used for violence when that same hammer might be used to build a shelter for
your family? Or is the violence within our souls the true evil?”
Shoin
frowned. “I understand little of what I read, but I am no shugenja. Were any of
your order able to understand the scroll?” Shoin looked at the monk.
“No,”
Yozo answered. “We are assured that the scroll is legitimate, but we have never
been able to decipher its contents. It seems Nakanu possessed a knowledge of
the Taint that few can understand, even among shugenja.”
“Perhaps
the Kuni would be able to comprehend this,” Shoin mused.
“No,
they would not.”
The
herald studied the monk carefully. “How can you be certain?”
The
monk held up his hands. “There are a handful of retired Kuni among our number.
They refuse to examine the scroll. Nakanu’s name is cursed among his former
clan. They refuse to touch his writings, even though many of his discoveries
keep the Crab armies safe to this day.”
“Foolish
superstition,” Shoin replied.
“Perhaps,”
Yozo answered, “but these same superstitions also grant the Kuni their magic. We
cannot question their ways.”
Shoin
sighed and rolled the scroll back up. He should have known better than to
expect a trip to a Brotherhood library to be straightforward and simple.
“Regardless,” he said carefully, “the contents of this scroll may be of great
use to the Empire, especially with the Bloodspeakers on the march. It must be
deciphered and studied as quickly as possible.”
Yozo
said nothing, his even gaze implying this was all known to him, and indeed was
the reason for Shoin having been summoned.
“Yes,
well,” the herald said, rapidly becoming irritated with the encounter, “I will
find the appropriate place for this.” He bowed deeply. “You have my thanks,
Yozo-san. You and your order have ever been friends to the Miya.”
“Wisdom
is but a seed, and one must be cautious where it is planted,” the monk said
cryptically. “With whom will you share yours?”
“The
Emerald Champion,” Shoin said without hesitation. “He has agents in the area
who can be of assistance in this matter, I believe.”
•
The Moto Provinces
Shoin waited patiently in the
small audience chamber. The magistrate’s headquarters was small, but
extravagantly decorated and obviously very well-equipped. The Unicorn had
always been eager to display their wealth, although Shoin understood from his
older family members that when the Shinjo had ruled the clan they had
maintained a modicum of taste with regard to decoration. Most considered the
Moto style almost vulgar in its ostentation, though he personally found many of
their gaijin decorations quite fascinating.
The
door to the chambers beyond opened and a young samurai walked out. His clothing
was of good quality, though it had none of the impractical extravagance of a
courtier. He smiled broadly at Shoin and bowed deeply. “Welcome, Miya Shoin-sama.
I regret that you were kept waiting.”
“I
arrived without previous announcement,” Shoin said, returning the bow. “I would
not presume to ask you or your comrades to halt your work for my benefit.”
“Nevertheless,”
the young man continued, “I would not wish to show a guest poor manners. I am
Moto Najmudin, magistrate in the service of the Emerald Champion. I am told you
asked to speak with me?”
“Yes,”
Shoin replied, unable to keep the surprise from his voice. “I apologize, I
thought you were perhaps an assistant or yoriki.”
“I
do not have the traditional Moto demeanor, true,” Najmudin said, his smile
widening. “As my friends are all too eager to point out! Or was it my age? I
hear that often as well.”
“Both,”
the herald admitted. “I have heard much of your exploits. I suppose I imagined
you would be older.”
“Some
of what you have heard is doubtless exaggeration,” Najmudin explained. “As for
the rest… I have been very fortunate.”
“You
are too modest,” Shoin insisted. “But it is your bravery during the Rain of
Blood and afterwards that has brought me here.”
The
magistrate’s expression grew dour at the mention of the Rain.
“I
have heard that you and your colleagues fought alongside Matsu Hitomi and the
Phoenix at the City of Remembrance,” Shoin said. “Is that correct?”
“It
is,” Najmudin confirmed. “She was a ray of hope on an otherwise dark and
hopeless day.”
“I
have further heard,” Shoin continued, “that in the battle’s aftermath you
discovered documents identifying a number of Bloodspeakers throughout the
Empire. Many were tried and executed on the basis of your findings.”
Najmudin
nodded. “That is also correct.”
“And
you and your colleagues Jiyuna, Fusako, and Takenao have each been promoted to
investigate all matters concerning the Bloodspeakers and their activities
within the confines of your individual clans’ lands. You each now report
directly to Hachi or one of his senior magistrates.” He looked at the Unicorn
expectantly.
“Partially
correct,” Najmudin offered. “With all respect, what is the point of this? What
interest is our work to the Imperial Herald?”
Shoin
waved the comment away. “I do not wish to waste your time, Najmudin-san.
Nevertheless, you and your allies have rapidly become very prominent in the
Empire’s struggle against the Bloodspeakers, meaning that you are the ideal
person to put this to use.” He drew out a large scroll from his obi. “Do you
know of Kuni Nakanu?”
“I
do not.”
“Kuni
Nakanu was among the first shugenja to study the strange phenomenon that occur
in the Shadowlands – peculiar weather, stunted crops, transformed wildlife,
high incidence of madness and infection in those who ventured too close to Fu
Leng’s domain,” Shoin explained. “He was the scholar who first discovered the
Shadowlands Taint. He named it, in fact, to describe the unhealthy pallor it
often caused in those exposed to it. He also conducted experiments into how it
affected the dead, and documented many of the physical steps leading up to it.
Some have theorized that his work might contain the secrets of how the Taint
might be reversed.”
“Is
that possible?” Najmudin asked. “How could the Crab not know?”
“Nakanu
was a madman,” Shoin replied. “When he died, his creations ran loose in Crab
lands, murdering many. “The Crab confiscated his later findings and sealed
them, lest they be used to cause greater evil. They were later stolen by
servants of Iuchiban, and assumed to be lost.” He hefted the scroll again.
“Until now. Even if the belief that Nakanu’s work can cure the Taint is a false
one, it is known that Iuchiban used these writings to become what he is.
Perhaps the Bloodspeaker’s weakness might lie within this scroll.”
Najmudin
nodded slowly, taking it all in. “What do you need from me, Shoin-sama?”
Shoin
frowned. “I have already had a copy scribed and entered into the Miya archives,
but the content is too confusing. None among the Miya have the necessary
experience dealing with maho and the like to make sense of all that it
details.”
“Have
you consulted the Crab?”
“Not
as yet,” Shoin admitted. “As I said before, Nakanu is an extremely sensitive
subject where the Crab are concerned. I have brought you the original in hopes
that someone among the Emerald and Jade Magistrates may be able to decipher
it.”
“I
will do my best to find such a person, Shoin-sama,” Najmudin replied.
Shoin
smiled weakly. “Thank you for your aid, Najmudin-san.”
The
magistrate took the scroll. “I will have copies made and delivered to Asahina
Sekawa, as well as to my kinsmen at Shiro Iuchi. They can be trusted with such
secrets, and may know something.” He thought for a moment.
“I
ask only that you be cautious, Najmudin-san,” Shoin warned. “Iuchiban is a most
dangerous enemy. This may be our only chance to learn where he gained his
power.”
Najmudin
bowed slightly. “They shall not fall into the Bloodspeaker’s hands,” he
replied.
•
The northern edge of the Shinomen Mori
Lady Moon cast the vast forest to
the south in an otherworldly light. Looking at it now, Moto Latomu could
believe every ghost story ever told about the forest, stories that were easy to
dismiss in the light of day. He shifted in his saddle uneasily and glanced at
the man who had accompanied him here. “You are certain the one who can help me
will be here?” he asked.
“Yes,”
the monk said.
Latomu
shook his head in irritation. “How can you be certain?”
Yozo
met the Unicorn’s gaze with his even, unwavering stare. “Is it important?”
“No,”
Latomu scowled, “I suppose not.” He reached into his saddlebag as he had every
few minutes since leaving the Moto lands, confirming that the scroll was still
there. He had been assigned to take a copy of it from Mizu Mura to an old Iuchi
scholar in the south. Latomu had done so, fulfilling his duty without question.
What he had done beyond that was almost certainly enough to cost him his life
if it had ever come to light: he had made a copy for himself.
Should
Najmudin or, Fortunes help him, Chagatai discover what he had done, Latomu
would be executed on suspicion of practicing maho. In truth, however, he
loathed the dark art above all things. He had only taken a copy in hopes of
finding a way to use it against Iuchiban, to use it as a weapon and make the
Bloodspeaker suffer as he had suffered during the Rain of Blood.
Not
for the first time, Latomu glanced at the monk and wondered at his motivations.
He had known Yozo since his childhood, the old monk that tended the temple near
his village. But how had the monk known what he carried? And how had they
happened to find one another? Perhaps most importantly, why was the monk aiding
him in this potentially treasonous endeavor.
Yozo’s
expression did not change, but he looked suddenly at Latomu. “None of that is
important, Latomu,” he said, answering the Moto’s thoughts. “We do what must be
done.”
Latomu
remembered the Rain of Blood. He remembered the image of his wife, drenched in
blood and screaming obscenities as she murdered their only son. He remembered
striking her down with his blade. He remembered wishing that the rain would
take his soul as well, so that someone else might strike him down in turn… but
no one did.
There
was a slight rustling noise from the forest’s edge, and a man appeared in the
shadows. “Who is there?” he called out, his voice strangely ragged.
Latomu
leapt down from his steed, his hand on the hilt of his weapon. “I am here,” he
answered. “I am Latomu, of the White Guard.”
“A
Unicorn?” the voice was suddenly full of scorn and anger. “What treachery is
this?” The man drew an arrow and fixed it to his bow, stepping forward to take
aim at Latomu’s chest. As he moved, the moonlight revealed him, highlighting
the gaunt, yellowed flesh and the blackened pockmarks that covered his face.
Though he looked weak and ravaged by disease, he moved with unnatural speed and
confidence.
“One
of the Lost!” Latomu hissed, drawing his scimitar in a flash. The arrow
whistled through the night air, but he managed to deflect it with the
sword-guard on his blade. Latomu growled a battle cry and rushed forward toward
the Tainted samurai. His enemy responded by putting aside his bow and drawing a
blacksteel katana.
“Yes,
by all means,” Yozo’s voice echoed even over the haze of battle. “Destroy one
another. Iuchiban will prosper from your mutual destruction.”
Latomu
halted at once, his breath coming quickly and raggedly. The Lost samurai paused
as well, yellow eyes narrowing. They did not remove their gazes from one
another.
“Explain
what this Moto is doing here, Yozo,” the Lost samurai demanded.
“Each
of you wishes to see Iuchiban destroyed. Moto Latomu, you blame the Bloodspeaker
for the deaths of your family, and rightfully so. Daigotsu Meguro, you desire
Iuchiban’s destruction so that your lord might reclaim his rightful throne in
the City of the Lost.”
The
two combatants looked at each other carefully, the hate in their eyes
diminished only slightly. “What does any of this have to do with Iuchiban?”
Meguro asked.
Yozo
gestured toward the Unicorn. “Latomu carries copies of Nakanu’s writings, from
which Iuchiban learned the secrets of maho. His weakness might be learned from
the information therein.”
“Then
I will kill him and take it,” Meguro snarled.
“Try,”
Latomu answered, holding his scimitar ready.
“Does
Daigotsu have the resources to marshal a full attack against Iuchiban?” Yozo
asked calmly. “Does the Empire have the knowledge necessary to understand what
is contained within those scrolls?”
“Someone
will understand,” Latomu said obstinately. “Some scholar among the Phoenix, or
the Crab, or the Jade Magistrates.”
Yozo
sighed. “And do you have time to find this someone before another tragedy like
the Rain of Blood occurs? You know Daigotsu’s followers have the expertise you
require.”
“The
Dark Lord killed the Emperor,” Latomu roared. “They are traitors to the
Celestial Order itself. I will not help us.”
“You
call yourself samurai?” Meguro snarled. “It is your Emperor Toturi who had no
respect for the Order. He murdered our god!”
“Iuchiban
would see both your dynasties, Toturi and Daigotsu, laid waste,” Yozo replied.
“Each of you might wish to see your own lord rule all the realms of mortal and
spirit, but the Bloodspeaker would destroy everything. Would you let your pride
consume Rokugan and the Shadowlands?”
“How
can I trust this abomination to return and tell me what he has learned?” Latomu
asked.
“Why
should I believe what this coward offers is genuine?” Meguro countered.
“Both
of you have only my word,” the monk replied. “Both of you have served your
masters well. If you see an enemy, if you see a traitor, see it in me.”
Latomu
could not bring himself to hate the old monk. He nodded and lowered his sword
slightly. He slowly drew the scroll from his belt and weighed it in his hand
for a moment. Finally, he drew a deep breath and tossed it across the distance
toward Meguro. “If you betray my trust, I will find you,” he snarled. “No
matter how deep in the Shadowlands you hide.”
Meguro’s
eyes narrowed. “My word is my bond,” he replied with a bow. “We shall see if
you can keep your side of this arrangement, ‘samurai.’” Meguro retreated into
the shadows, watching Latomu all the while.
Latomu
said nothing more to Meguro. He turned to the monk, his mouth open to ask a
question.
But
Yozo was gone.
•
Elsewhere
Through the shrouded mists that
separated the various spirit realms, Yozo watched the two men part ways. He
nodded slowly. All was proceeding as he had hoped it would; though the two
warriors had every reason to destroy one another, they had established some
level of trust without denying what they were. Perhaps there was hope after
all.
A
shimmer of green appeared to his left, and a second figure appeared. “Yozo,”
the man said bitterly. “What have you done?”
“I
have done what must be done, Omen,” Yozo answered. “I have given both Daigotsu
and the Empire information that could lead to Iuchiban’s destruction. The
balance must be restored.”
“Why
Daigotsu?” Omen demanded. “He released Fu Leng into the Heavens! You equip our
enemies to stand against us!”
Yozo’s
form began to melt and change, taking the form of a sinuous dragon. “Daigotsu,
for all the darkness in his soul, is part of the Celestial Order, just as a
predator has its place in nature. That power can be turned against Iuchiban, if
one is cautious.”
“Cautious?”
Omen said darkly. “You’re mad, Fortune. You will destroy us all.”
“Perhaps,”
Yozo mused. “Or perhaps only I can save us.”