Guardians
by
Shawn Carman
In the near total darkness of a
moonless night, a woman and her child lay bound and helpless in a bamboo cage
tucked among the rocks of Kiken na Roka, which many called
When
she opened her eyes again, she saw a man crouched in the shadows nearby. He was
not one of the Bloodspeakers, just a dirty man in the
rough clothes of a hunter. He wore a katana and wakizashi at his hip – a ronin.
He quickly glanced around the camp, gestured for her to be silent, then removed the binding from her face.
“Forgive
me, Empress,” the ronin whispered. “I would never dare touch you if the
circumstances were different.”
“You
apologize needlessly,” she whispered back.
“The
cultists are everywhere,” he said, opening the cage and beginning to untie her
bonds. “We must get away from here.”
“No,”
she said, pulling her hands away. “I cannot move swiftly through these
mountains. They would hunt us down. Run from here, return to the capital. Tell
my husband where to find these men so they may be punished.”
“I
cannot leave you and your son to die, Empress,” he said with a scowl. “Let me
take the boy.”
“They
will find you,” Hochiahime said. “They hunted a
hundred men to their deaths with relentless tenacity. You would only die as
well. Run, so that someone may know what has happened here.”
Disappointment
was evident in the ronin’s eyes. He glanced at the
five-year-old boy sleeping next to the Empress and sat in silence for a few
moments, then disappeared into the night. After a few long moments he
reappeared, this time carrying a heavy burden.
The
ronin gingerly placed his burden on the ground next to the Empress. She saw
that it was a child, the same age as Sotorii. The boy
looked up at her quietly with serious eyes.
“What
is this?” she asked.
“My
son, Kyoden,” the ronin replied.
“I
told you to run, ronin,” she said urgently. “There is nothing here but death.”
“I
cannot abandon you,” he said, kneeling before her.
“You
have no choice,” she said urgently. “If the Bloodspeakers
find me missing, they will scour the mountains until they find you. You cannot
escape their black magic.”
“Then
let me rescue the child,” the ronin said. “I will replace him with my own son.
By the time they realize the difference, I will be in Otosan
Uchi.”
“Your
son will die,” the Empress said.
“Then
he will die serving the Empire,” the ronin replied.
Hochiahime had no words at first, so moved was she by the
monumental sacrifice of this simple man, and she felt the pain he kept
suppressed. Tears rolled down her cheeks, both for this stranger and for the
children she would never see. She reached out and caressed his face.
“Live,”
she said. “Take my son to his father. Tell them to mourn me, and the child I
would have borne.”
The
ronin nodded mutely, his eyes wet. He lifted the Emperor’s heir and favored his
son with one last look, then turned to leave. Just before he was too far away,
he glanced back over his shoulder. “Please forgive me,” he said.
She
was uncertain whether he spoke to her or to his son. She said nothing.
With
that, he disappeared into the darkness once more.
Hochiahime waited, listening for any sign that the Bloodspeakers had discovered his flight. A guard arrived a
few moments later and glanced over the prisoners, but did not seem to notice
that the children had been switched. After an hour’s time, she finally closed
her eyes and breathed a shaky sigh of relief.
A
realization came to the Empress suddenly, and she reached into a secret pocket
within her obi. She withdrew a small object of jade and gold. The Empress’
Seal, used to issue any decrees necessary when the Emperor was indisposed or if
she had need to conduct personal business. The chop had gone virtually
unchanged for centuries, an ancient symbol of her position. Though she would
still die, she would not let such a treasure fall into the hands of the Bloodspeakers.
Hochiahime tilted her head and listened carefully. In the
quiet night, she could hear a small brook that wound its way through the pass’s
easternmost edge. It was not far from here. Silently offering a quick prayer,
the Empress clumsily threw the seal toward the brook as best she could despite
her bonds. She cursed when she heard a quiet crack of metal against stone, but
then the following splash filled her with some sense of relief.
One
day it would be found. Such things always were.
•
Daidoji Hohiro lay motionless in
the tall grass, studying the chasm below. He had not moved in over two hours.
He was prepared to remain in place for days, if necessary. His training as a
Harrier had prepared him for exactly that, and inwardly the young man was
delighted at the chance to prove his worth so soon after his gempukku. His appointment to the Imperial Legion had come
as quite a surprise, but a welcome one. It seemed that the Sixth Legion’s
commander was a Doji of sufficient rank to be aware of his family’s skills in
certain areas, and he had requested “scouts” to assist his forces. Hohiro was
among those selected by the sensei at Shiro Giji.
Now
Hohiro and his friend Iwane were with the Sixth
Legion, carefully patrolling the southernmost regions of
There.
There was movement at the pass leading into the valley. Technically, this
region belonged to no clan, but the
The
barbarians were as Hohiro had imagined they would be. They were short and
squat, wearing fur to keep the autumn chill from their bones. They did not
carry daisho, but strange, wide-bladed swords that
were adorned with rings along the back. They moved cautiously into the valley,
spreading out and covering one another well with the large, wooden crossbows
they bore. Hohiro and Iwane were familiar with such
items from their training, of course, but most samurai would not recognize
them. Rokugani armor offered almost no protection from such weapons. The way
these men walked, it was clear that they were hunters and warriors. There were
ten of them. It would be difficult to take them without allowing escape, but
with the element of surprise it could be done.
Slowly,
almost imperceptibly, Hohiro began reaching for the yumi
that lay at his side. He sensed Iwane doing the same,
but he never took his eyes off of the barbarians. They were just now coming into
range of the bows, and Hohiro wanted to wait until they were well within before
firing. When they crossed the stream, then the Daidoji could attack without
fear of their prey escaping.
The
barbarians reached the stream and began to cross. One stopped, however, and
reached down into the water. The man held it aloft and said something to his
comrades, who turned back to him then promptly fell from his horse into the
stream, an arrow sprouting from his neck. Hohiro turned to Iwane,
but the other Crane had not yet fired. He glanced up and looked around the
valley walls, seeking answers. There, atop the opposite wall. A Tsuruchi, a magistrate by the look of
her. She had stumbled across the Yobanjin and opened fire.
Cursing
his luck, Hohiro rose immediately and fired at the raiders, who were already
turning to flee. Between the two Crane and the Tsuruchi,
several raiders fell, but the others managed to escape their range before they
could be brought down. The young harrier cursed and ran toward where his horse
had been tied. It would surely be a miracle if they were able to catch the last
of them now.
•
The crisp mountain air definitely
did not agree with Jotaro. He frowned in irritation
as the icy winds whistled through the openings in his armor, the silken
clothing beneath doing little to cut the chill. Doubtless the environment was
intended to put the Rokugani ill at odds in hopes of diminishing their
abilities. Inwardly, Jotaro felt certain such a thing
would avail them very little. He was here only because Doji Kurohito
had insisted. It had been difficult to explain to Toturi Miyako
why he needed temporary leave from the First Legion, but in the end the word of
his Champion was sufficient for the young commander. Jotaro
almost wished that she had argued the point for old time’s sake; he would miss
the stubborn Monkey. Kurohito’s wrath might be
somewhat less unpleasant than the long trip, wretched conditions, and
untrustworthy encounter he was about to endure. After consideration, however, Jotaro reflected on the few occasions he had actually
witnessed his Champion’s anger aroused. All things being equal, this was
probably the more pleasant of the two.
“Doji
Jotaro-sama.” The voice came from somewhere amid the
rocks, but Jotaro could not determine where. The
voice possessed a strange accent, but sounded like the dialect the Daidoji
used. “I am grateful that you could come.”
Jotaro’s hand rested lightly on the hilt of his blade. His
posture did nothing to betray his readiness to draw and strike in a heartbeat.
“You owe me no thanks,” he countered. “It is my duty and privilege to obey lord
Kurohito’s instructions.” After a moment’s
consideration, he added “No matter how odd the circumstances.”
There
was laughter, then. It was a dry, rasping sound, one without any hint of humor
or good intent behind it. “I suppose that answers many of my questions about
you, Jotaro-sama.”
“I
am overcome with joy to be of service,” Jotaro replied
dryly. “Reveal yourself, if you please. If you wished to play games you should
have sent for an artisan, not a magistrate.”
A
bushi appeared from amid the stones to Jotaro’s left. The side, Jotaro noticed, where it would have been most difficult to turn his
blade. Only a second or two delay, of course, but still
delayed. The warrior was a canny one. “I am Daidoji Hohiro, Jotaro-sama. I fear I am responsible for bringing you here,
but you have my utmost assurances that it is absolutely necessary.”
Jotaro stared blankly at the dirty, scarred man. “Daidoji?”
he asked.
“Indeed,”
Hohiro answered. He frowned and glanced down at his battered, oft-patched armor
and the piecemeal clothing he wore. “Why do you question my name? Do I not look
like a Crane? Is this not the latest fashion?”
Jotaro frowned in concern. “How long have you been in these
mountains, Hohiro-san?”
“Truthfully,
I am not entirely certain,” the Daidoji answered. “The seasons are very similar
here, and it is difficult to track the passage of time. Is the year still 1161
by the Isawa Calendar?”
“1165,” Jotaro corrected. “Toturi III’s seventh year as Emperor of Rokugan is about to
begin.”
“Ah.
Eight years, then.”
“Eight
years?” Jotaro asked, dumbfounded. “Have you been
alone all that time?”
“Not
always, but mostly,” the warrior answered. “I have a sacred task to fulfill,
and I believe I have finally done so. But I needed someone to assist me, and
that duty has fallen to you, Jotaro-sama. Time is
short, however. Please come with me, and follow my lead as best you are able. I
will do as much of the talking as I can.”
Jotaro nodded and followed the other man as he set off
across the mountain path at a trot. He moved across the stones like he was born
to them, though it was considerably more difficult for Jotaro.
The two trekked nearly half a mile to a small plateau. The magistrate could
make out a lone cooking fire atop the plateau, and wondered what might await
them there.
Whatever
Jotaro might have expected, it certainly was not a
band of Yobanjin barbarians dressed in crude leather armor and thick fur
cloaks. It was only the presence of Hohiro, waving Jotaro’s
hand away from his blade, that kept the magistrate
from charging the men and cutting them down. The two Crane stood waiting until
finally one of the barbarians approached them. The man stood closer than Jotaro would have liked, looking at him expectantly.
Finally, he spoke. “Are you the one called Yasuki?” he asked in halting
Rokugani.
Hohiro
looked at Jotaro. “The Emerald
Champion, sama. He has been looking forward to
meeting the Emerald Champion.”
“I
am not,” Jotaro said. “I am Doji Jotaro,
of the First Legion.” The magistrate saw Hohiro wince. Apparently he had been
expected to lie, but there were some things a samurai would not do. Perhaps
Hohiro had forgotten that.
“You
said Yasuki would come!” the Yobanjin said angrily to Hohiro.
“Be
at ease, Bajan,” Hohiro answered. “Yasuki Hachi is a
powerful warlord in our land. He could not come, but has sent Jotaro in his stead. The First Legion he spoke of are the Empire’s finest warriors.”
“I
do not believe you!” Bajan shouted. He moved like the
wind, holding a knife to Hohiro’s throat. Jotaro’s blade was halfway from its saya
when Hohiro stopped him.
“There
is no reason for concern,” he said calmly. “Bajan is
showing his men that he is in control, but they cannot hear our conversation if
we keep our voices low. And besides, Bajan here knows
very well that he wouldn’t survive more than a few moments after me.” The
Daidoji gently pressed forward with the dagger he held in his off hand, the
blade of which was inserted masterfully between two plates in the barbarian’s
armored midsection. “I apologize for misleading you, Bajan-sama,”
Hohiro said more clearly, so the others could hear. He bowed his head as best
he could. “Now, shall we continue?”
Bajan withdrew the blade and stepped backwards, sheathing
it. “If you are powerful as Hohiro says,” he offered, “then you can aid the
Mountain Wind tribe as Yasuki could, perhaps.” He looked at Jotaro
expectantly. “Do you have the power to speak with your lord’s name?”
Jotaro’s eyes narrowed. Kurohito’s
orders had included words to that effect, but he had no intention of abusing
that privilege. “I do,” he answered.
Bajan nodded. “We have heard of Yasuki, the one who killed
many Son of Mountain warriors on the distant island you call Aramasu’s Pride. He is a man of honor and law. If you are
his servant, then you too must be such a man, yes?”
“I
am,” Jotaro said with more confidence.
“Then
the Mountain Wind tribe wishes to bargain with you and your tribe for an
alliance,” Bajan said. “We are a powerful tribe, but
we have suffered at the hands of those you call Blood Speakers. They move
through our lands to avoid your men of law, and we were greatly wounded when
they brought the blood rain upon our lands.”
Jotaro glanced at Hohiro. He had not realized how far the
Rain of Blood extended. How badly had it affected these simple folk, he
wondered? “I am sorry for your loss, Bajan,” he said
sincerely.
“The
Mountain Wind tribe will serve your Crane tribe,” Bajan
continued. “We will offer any aid we can against the Blood Speakers, and gather
information on their movement when we can. In return for our service, you will
help us protect ourselves.”
Jotaro frowned. “How can we aid your people?”
“Food,”
the chieftain answered at once. “Weapons. Perhaps a handful of warriors like Hohiro. Nothing
complicated, only necessities of life. With these things, we will not fear the
other tribes. We will not fear the Blood Speakers. We will be strong again, and
we will make certain no other tribes threaten your Empire.”
The
magistrate shook his head. “This thing you ask is not a simple matter.”
“No,”
Bajan agreed. “We offer this as well.” He held forth
a small hide sack. The barbarian clearly wanted Jotaro
to take it, but he was repulsed at the notion of touching dead flesh. Only the
wild-eyed stare of Hohiro convinced him to do so. Gingerly opening the sack, he
withdrew a small object of gold and green, slightly chipped on one side. “Is
this…” he began. “This is the Empress’s Seal,” he
said. “This has been lost since the death of Hantei XXXVIII’s
wife, the Empress Hochiahime.”
“It
was found in your land during the war between our people ten years ago,” Bajan explained. “It came into my possession some time ago,
and I had heard of Hohiro’s quest for this item.” He
looked at Jotaro carefully. “Will your lord be
pleased with its return?”
“He
will,” Jotaro said confidently. “He will be most
pleased.” He offered the barbarian a short bow. “In the name of my lord, I
accept your offer, Bajan. The Mountain Wind tribe is
now under the protection of the Crane Clan.”
Bajan smiled widely and uttered a fierce whoop of triumph.
•
The
“Kurohito, my friend,” the Emperor said in his typical
guarded tones. “I am much pleased to see you. It has been too long since you
were last a guest in my court.”
“For
me as well, my liege,” Kurohito offered. “It is my
eternal regret that my duties so often keep me absent from your court, but I am
overjoyed to oversee in your name the lands you have so graciously granted my
clan.”
“We
all have our duties,” the Emperor answered. “What brings you before the court?”
“I
wish to present a gift to your future Empress, my lord,” Kurohito
said, bowing deeply before Kurako, who stood near the
Emperor’s throne. “It has been far too long sine an Empress sat upon the throne
in times of peace. Only your noble mother, Kaede-sama,
has done so within the recent past, and I fear her time of rule was hardly
peaceful.”
“Unfortunately
true, for much of her life,” the Emperor said. “What gift would you offer?”
Kurohito paused for a moment. “Perhaps I was incorrect in
my description, my lord. What I offer is not truly a gift, for it is already
the rightful possession of our Empress, and I am greatly pleased to be able to
return it to her.” The Crane Champion knelt and offered a small box to the
Empress, who took it with a curious expression.
Kurako gently opened the box and raised her eyebrows in
surprise. “Is this the Empress’ Seal?”
“It
is,” Kurohito answered. “The Crane have sought it for
many years, and finally discovered it among the Yobanjin tribes to the north.”
“My
thanks, Kurohito-san,” Kurako
said, “but I cannot accept this. It is a treasure of the old Hantei Dynasty.
Let your clan keep it as a symbol of your faithfulness to them.”
“Ah
but we cannot keep it, my lady,” Kurohito said with a
small smile. “It has been ritually purified in the holiest of all Asahina temples, and Asahina Itoeko tells me that the kami
that dwells within it sings with joy at its return to the new Imperial Dynasty.
I cannot disappoint such a steadfast spirit.”
“Are
you so certain?” Kurako replied. “The former Hantei
brides were Crane; it knows your people well. I would think that it would find
greater joy in your esteemed house than in that of this humble Lion.”
“My
lady honors me,” Kurohito said with a bow. “And yet I
insist. The Righteous Emperor has honored his father’s clan of descent by
choosing a bride from among their number, but let the Crane honor their ancient
agreement with the Hantei Dynasty in some small way by returning this artifact to
your care.”
“With
so sincere an offer how can I but accept?” Kurako
replied.
Kurohito reverently handed the case to an Imperial
Guardsman, who gave it in turn to Kurako. “I only
wish that it could have been found sooner,” Kurohito
said, “so the Emperor’s beloved mother could have wielded the mark of station
to which she was rightfully entitled.”
“History
has shown your clan’s devotion to the Empress,” the Emperor replied. “Some
think it only because most were Crane by birth, but your actions today prove
differently. I offer you the chance to continue to prove that devotion, if you
wish it.”
“Always,
my lord,” Kurohito answered at once. “What would you
have of the Crane?”
“Train
a new Empress’ Guard,” Naseru answered. “It would ease an Emperor’s troubled
mind to know that the finest Crane warriors were ever watchful of his wife’s
safety.”
Kurohito knelt. “At once, Emperor.” He rose, then knelt
again before the Empress. “You shall have protection finer than any in the
Empire, my lady.”
“Thank
you, Kurohito,” she answered. “I am certain that I
will.”
•
Jotaro stood in the doorway. His things were ready, and he
was about to leave to rejoin the First Legion. Something had compelled him to
check on Hohiro first, however. Ever since the two Crane had returned, the
magistrate had worried about the wayward Daidoji warrior. So long removed from
Rokugan, would it be possible for him to simply return with no difficulty? “I
see you are preparing to leave as well,” he said.
Hohiro
looked up from where he was fiercely shoving his belonging into a new travel
sack. “Yes,” he said roughly.
“I
take it you aren’t pleased, then,” Jotaro replied
after a moment.
“Did
you hear?” Hohiro said, his voice full of a quiet
anger. “Did you hear who has been appointed to lead the Empress Guard?”
“Doji
Reju,” Jotaro answered. “He
is among the clan’s finest warriors, a legend at the Battle of Oblivion’s Gate.
Also, he was given a vision relating to the Emperor by lord
Togashi Hoshi. It is in the Emperor’s best interests that Reju
be close by.”
“A vision?” Hohiro spat. “A vision he cannot remember.”
Jotaro shrugged. “Reju was
trained by the Dragon Clan, and the Dragon are
strange. It will return when the time is right. Kurohito
is confident that Reju is the right choice.”
“And
me. What have you heard of me?”
The
magistrate frowned. “I had heard you will be given command of a small unit to
return to aid the Yobanjin,” he answered. “I thought you would be pleased.”
“Pleased?”
Hohiro demanded, his voice rising. “I spent eight years in those miserable,
filthy mountains. Eight years among those filthy outlander swine! I never want
to see them again! I should lead the Guard… not that one-armed failure.”
“Be
cautious,” Jotaro said quietly. Only his respect for
the old warrior’s accomplishments prevented him from drawing his blade then and
there. “Such words are dangerous.”
“You
do not know of danger, Doji,” Hohiro said, his voice quiet again. “I refuse my
new appointment.”
“You
cannot refuse Kurohito,” Jotaro
replied.
“Then
let him stop me,” Hohiro said. He picked up the bag and brushed past Jotaro. “For your sake, I hope we do not meet again. I have
no wish to kill you.”
Jotaro watched the old Daidoji leave without another word.
It seemed that the time spent among the Yobanjin protecting the Empire from
barbarians had left little within him that could still be considered samurai.
Such was the price of duty.