Enlightened Madness, Part
Three
by
Rich
Wulf
Forty-five years
ago…
The
acolyte known as Soh had never been quite so terrified as he was in this
moment. A lifetime of meditation, prayer, and study had not prepared him for this.
His jaw worked without words, like a broken tree limb dangling in the breeze.
His eyes tried to leap from their sockets. His arms trembled, threatening to
drop the thick sheaves of scrolls he had been bearing back to the libraries of
Fukurokujin Seido. He had heard many legends of the samurai who stood before
him today, but even the legends could not fully describe the intimidating
presence of Togashi Yokuni, the Champion of the Dragon Clan.
The
Champion was tall, taller even than Soh who was extremely lanky for his
fourteen years. Sleek black hair hung loose about his shoulders, mirroring eyes
so dark that they seemed to have no iris - simply pools of deep black. He wore
a pale green kimono painted with the images of dragons in flight and he bore no
weapons save a golden daisho. Only his swords and his noble bearing suggested
he was a samurai at all. Strange, Soh had heard it said that Yokuni always
appeared in full armor.
“Greetings, Soh,” Yokuni said, or
seemed to say. As the words passed, Soh was left feeling uncertain that Yokuni
had spoken at all, that he had simply implied the words through posture and
expression. As soon as their meaning was conveyed, the words slipped from Soh’s
memory.
“Lord
Yokuni,” Soh said, fixing his eyes respectfully on the floor. “Please do not
kill me yet.”
Soh
felt a sense of amusement radiate from the Dragon Champion. “Why should I kill
you, Soh?” he asked, or seemed to ask.
“Because
I, who am so low, cannot kneel to you as etiquette requires,” Soh replied in
shaky voice. “I fear I would drop my burden of scrolls, and damage their
irreplaceable wisdom. Better that I should die than they should be lost. Even
yet, such an insult cannot stand. I pray you, grant me leave to return these
scrolls to their proper place.”
“In
protecting the wisdom of the ages, you honor the way of the Dragon,” Yokuni
said in his strange way. “I take no offense.”
“Thank
you, my lord,” Soh said, greatly relieved.
“Tell
me, Soh, who are your parents?” Yokuni asked. The more he spoke, the more real
his words seemed. Soh could remember what the Champion said quite clearly now.
“I wish to know who raised you to be so wise.”
“I
have no parents, my lord,” Soh said. “I was found by the monks in this temple
as a child and raised as one of them.”
“Such
a cruel fate, don’t you think?” Yokuni asked. “The life of a monk is a life of
denial, a life of poverty, a life of submission. Do you not regret what you
lost? What life you could have lived?”
Soh
was quiet for a long moment. “Why should I regret?” he asked. “I have no life
but this one. All I can do is to live it.”
The
Dragon Champion chuckled.
“I
will speak to the master of the temple,” Yokuni said. “If you wish it, he will
release you from your service in this temple. If you desire, you may find your
way up Togashi Mountain, and seek me there. You will be allowed to pass
gempukku as a true Dragon, as a Togashi, and take a name of your choosing. I
will share with you the secrets of our tattoo magic, and you may join the
brotherhood of the ise zumi if you choose.”
Soh
said nothing, his shock and joy at the Champion’s offer such that he could not
put them into words. Strangely, he sensed that he had said exactly the right
thing.
“Do
not assume this is a gift, Soh,” Yokuni said. “If you choose the path I offer,
everything will change. You will see the wicked prosper while the worthy are
cast down. You will watch friends die while you will stand helpless. You will
watch the pious be hunted as corruption reigns. You will fight every day for
the rest of your life, struggling for what is right, and when you die your
fight will be unfinished.”
“And
if I stay here?” Soh asked.
“Your
life will be easy,” Yokuni said. “You will live to an old age and accumulate
great wisdom.”
“But
I will always wonder what could have been,” Soh said in a quiet voice, “and my
place among your warriors will stand empty.”
Togashi shrugged. “Perhaps
another will step forward to fight where you chose not to. Perhaps not.”
Soh
said nothing, his brow furrowed in confusion. Yokuni turned and walked back
down the way he had come. At the end of the hall, he looked at the young monk.
“What
name will you choose when you come?” Yokuni said, just as Soh came to his
decision.
“Mitsu,”
Soh replied, not sure why he had chosen it. “I will be Togashi Mitsu.”
Yokuni
seemed to smile then, and was gone.
It
was then that Soh realized that the Champion had never introduced himself.
•
Thirty Years ago…
Hitomi
Akuai was not a man accustomed to uncertainty. When Lady Hitomi returned to
lead the Dragon, he felt the power of divinity in her words. He saw glory in
her golden eyes. He was one of the first to bow before her, and was blessed for
his loyalty with the Lady’s name. He was a Mirumoto no longer. He was a member
of the Hitomi, a kikage zumi now. He was one of many.
Some had come from far distant
lands, even other clans, and were granted the Lady’s name and tattoos. Some
were former enemies, who came to Kyuden Hitomi convinced that the Lady was some
mad despot, but walked out of her throne room born anew, now members of her
proud family. Their pasts did not matter. Like him, they belonged to the Lady
now, and Akuai saw them all as brothers and sisters. They were closer to him
than his own brother, Ikudaiu, who had fled the clan and joined the ranks of
the Brotherhood. Akuai was proud to bear the Hitomi name. He would die for any
of his brethren. He would kill for any of them.
All save one.
When
the Lady spoke, she spoke only truth. When she gave a command, she was to be
obeyed. Even yet, over the past year, Akuai had slowly come to wonder if the
Lady might have made a mistake.
“Kokujin,
what have you done?” Akuai roared.
The
stony landscape of the Great Climb was stained with blood. Torn and broken
bodies lay scattered on the dusty earth. They were Naga, or they once had been.
Now they were meat for the carrion birds.
“The
Naga ambassador did not see reason,” Kokujin said. The dark tattooed man
crouched by a small stream, his back to Akuai. His entire body was covered with
the blood of murdered Naga, but he was intent on carefully rinsing a shaft of
bamboo in the water. He held it up to examine it. Akuai saw a long needle bound
to the shaft - a tattoo needle.
“The
Lady released the Naga delegation peacefully,” Akuai said. “Kazaq came as a
friend. She did not want this.”
Kokujin peered over one shoulder,
smiling amiably at Akuai through the blood that covered his face. “Now be
honest, Akuai,” Kokujin said. “You heard what the Kazaq said. He came as a
messenger. He had a vision, a vision in which the Lady would bring about the
end of all. He feared her pride would drag the moon from the sky and send the
sun bleeding to its grave. He promised that if she did not step down and turn
to the Akasha for help, the Naga would rise up to destroy her. Hitomi denied
his aid, but allowed him to leave peacefully to save face in the courts. We -
her loyal servants - cannot let such insults stand. Hitomi needs no help from
snake-men who cannot even protect their own cities from ruin.”
“The
Lady would not wish for this,” Akuai whispered, kneeling beside the body of a
dead Naga girl. Her green eyes stared lifelessly at the sky. Her hands were
still clutched tightly on the haft of her spear, a weapon that had failed to
save her from Kokujin’s wrath. “This is murder, Kokujin.”
“This
is war, Akuai,” Kokujin replied, straightening and tucking the needle into his
obi. “The Naga would have attacked us one way or another.”
“And
you believe killing the ambassador will make things better?” Akuai asked
bitterly. “He was the Qamar’s son, you fool!”
“I
am aware of that,” Kokujin said calmly. “That is why he yet lives. Look, Akuai,
upon my finest creation. Kazaq is our brother now.” Kokujin held out one hand,
gesturing at something behind Akuai.
Akuai
looked back in time to see a ruddy brown Naga slither out from behind a large
boulder. Akuai remembered him from Hitomi’s court. He was the Kazaq, emissary
of his people. Kazaq’s movements were awkward, as if he were confused or in
great pain. He clutched the side of his face with one hand, leaning heavily on
the boulder as he moved. His leathery skin was painted in swirling kanji,
similar to Kokujin’s tattoos. When the Naga looked up at Akuai, his eyes were
glazed and hollow.
“Akuai,”
the Naga said in an excited voice. “It is good to see you, brother! Will we
return to see the Lady soon? I am eager to guide her to the great destiny I
have foreseen!”
Akuai
turned to face Hitomi, face twisted in an angry scowl. “How have you done
this?” he demanded. “Only Hitomi can grant the kikage zumi tattoos!”
“Oh?”
Kokujin replied mildly, as if that fact came as some surprise.
“This is an abomination!” roared,
advancing on Kokujin. “You have twisted everything for which the Lady stands.”
“No,” Kokujin corrected. “I have
bought her time. How can the Naga fight us when their own prince is one of us?
While they come to terms with the fact that Kazaq is one of Hitomi’s faithful,
the Lady will have time to gird our defenses.”
“Kazaq
is not one of the faithful!” Akuai shouted, glaring up at the larger man. “He
is a mindless puppet!”
Kokujin
looked down at Akuai. A slow grin spread across his bloody features. “Why
Akuai,” he said with a small laugh. “The way you talk, I almost think you’d be
surprised if I told you Kazaq was not the first.”
Akuai
could say nothing. For the first time since he had sworn his name to Hitomi, a
sliver of doubt crept into his heart.
“Do
not look so disappointed,” Kokujin replied. “You believe that your Lady is
infallible. You believe that your unwavering loyalty is well placed. Many agree
with you, and who am I to say if you are right or wrong? Sadly not everyone
sees your Lady with the same clarity. That is where I come in.” Kokujin smiled.
“I
will tell her what you have done,” Akuai croaked.
“She
already knows, Akuai,” Kokujin said, leering at the smaller man. “She knows,
and she does not care. She has greater concerns. For the time being my games
serve her purposes. You can do nothing unless she wills it, and I am more
useful to her than you.”
Akuai
looked the dark tattooed man in the eyes. “Perhaps you are right,” he said,
“but one day she will not need you, Kokujin.”
Kokujin
shrugged. “On that day I will already be gone.” He walked past Akuai, pushing
him to one side.
“When
you leave, run far and fast,” Akuai called out after him. “For I promise I will
find you.”
Kokujin looked back at Akuai, his
face still stained with Naga gore. “I give you a promise as well,” he replied.
“I promise that from this day forth you will live in fear of me, and one day…
one day I will kill you.”
•
Today…
“It
appears we have both fulfilled our promises,” Kokujin whispered into Akuai’s
ear. He twisted the half-finished blade as he tore it free of Akuai’s stomach
again. The dying tattooed man screamed in anguish. Kokujin ignored him,
bringing the dripping blade back to the anvil’s surface. Akuai’s blood glowed
fiery red as the sword touched the Anvil of Despair, and Kokujin continued to
hammer the weapon into shape.
From
where he stood shackled to the wall, Togashi Satsu glared at Kokujin with
boundless hatred.
“Oh,
do not look so sour, little cousin,” Kokujin said as he continued his grisly
work. “Akuai did quite well, for an old man. He killed six of my men before we
captured him, and you saw what happened to the two that brought him here. His
Lady would be proud.” Kokujin reached over the edge of the anvil, patting Akuai
fondly on the head.
“Stop
it,” Satsu spat angrily. “Kill us if you must, but we will not stand for this.
Akuai demands a noble death, not this shameful mockery.”
Kokujin
paused in his smithing, looking up at Satsu with a thoughtful expression. He
set down his blade and hammer and walked slowly toward his prisoner, arms
folded behind his back. The light of the fire pit reflected off his muscular
form; his tattoos danced in the flickering light. “Little cousin,” he said,
looking down at Satsu. “When I sent you my challenge, did you never pause to
wonder why I did not ask you to bring a Kitsuki?”
Satsu
said nothing, only glared fearlessly at Kokujin.
“Of
course not,” Kokujin chuckled. “Your clan stopped thinking when your
grandfather died. I did not ask for a Kitsuki, because I knew they would warn
you not to play my games.”
Kokujin
rested his hands on Satsu’s shoulders, smiled warmly, and delivered a fierce
knee into the chained man’s stomach, so hard that he wretched. Kokujin shoved
Satsu back against the wall and walked back toward the anvil.
“You answered my invitation, and
here you are. Imprisoned,” Kokujin said. “You are a fool, little cousin, and I
mock you because that is my right. If you deserved fair treatment, you would
not be in chains.”
Satsu
stood straight in his bonds and glared at Kokujin. “When you are the one in
chains I will remember you said that.”
“Fair
enough,” Kokujin said without humor. “Can you kill me, little cousin? Can you
succeed where Togashi and Hitomi failed?”
“If
he does not, I will!” Hitomi Hogai roared.
“Silence,
animal, I am talking to your owner,” Kokujin said, glaring at Hogai.
“Togashi
and Hitomi did not fail,” Satsu retorted in a bold voice. “If they suffered you
to live, your life must have served some greater purpose.”
Kokujin
held up his nearly finished katana, considering its fine edge. “I agree,” he
replied in a distant voice. “Togashi used me. So did Hitomi. I used them in
return. Now they are gone and I am not.”
“So
you believe you are better than them?” Tamori Chieko said defiantly. “Togashi
and Hitomi reside in the Celestial Heavens. You hide in a cave with goblins and
lunatics.”
“This
is true,” Kokujin said, pointing at Chieko with the blade. “You are a smart
one. You understand.” He looked back at Satsu. “So few really understand. Satsu
understands.”
Satsu’s
eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Some
of the Hoshi monks I have met believe that you are much like your grandfather,”
Kokujin said, hammering on the sword again. “More like him than your father,
even. Sadly, you are incomplete. The monks that lived long enough to tell me
tales believe that you are destined to wield his blades, and that when you find
them you will gain his wisdom. That is why they were so eager to retrieve
Togashi’s daisho from me.” Kokujin’s eyes met Satsu’s as he continued working
the bloodied katana. “That is why I am eager to return them.” He gestured at
the golden swords that now rested on a stand nearby.
“For
some reason I find it difficult to trust your generosity,” Satsu said acidly.
“And
I thought you understood me,” Kokujin said. “I am a Dragon, Satsu. We are more
alike than you know, and I find I miss the Dragon as they once were. Without
the wisdom of a true god to guide you, the Dragon Clan is a pale shadow of
itself. The mystery is gone. The riddle is no more.” He grinned slowly. “No one
gets the joke without Togashi to explain it. When I finish my blades I will
return your grandfather’s daisho and release you, Satsu.”
“And
you think I will spare your life then?” Satsu replied.
“Can
you kill me?” Kokujin asked, looking genuinely surprised. “That should be
interesting.”
“You
are insane,” Hogai growled.
Kokujin
looked at Hogai, raised one eyebrow, and sighed. He looked back to his katana
to continue his work, but his shoulders slumped and the hammer fell from his
hands with a clang. “Fu Leng’s blood,” he swore, kicking Akuai’s limp form. “I
thought for certain the old man would have lasted longer than that. The
Bloodspeaker scrolls claimed the victims would last much longer… but then I do
suppose I have been working quicker than they intended. Pity, I was almost
finished.” He looked back at Satsu. “Just as well, I suppose. This brings me to
my next point.”
“Which
is?” Satsu hissed.
“Suffering,”
Kokujin replied, flipping the unfinished katana and catching it easily in his
other hand. “Togashi and Hitomi were both very powerful, but their power was
tempered by suffering. It gave them focus, gave them perspective. If you are to
take back your grandfather’s swords, then you must suffer as well, Satsu.”
“Do
what you will, madman,” Satsu said, meeting Kokujin’s gaze squarely.
“I
will,” Kokujin said, sitting on the edge of the anvil and grinning vaguely.
“Pick.”
“Pick?”
Satsu replied. “Pick what?”
“Pick
the anvil’s next victim,” Kokujin said, gesturing at Chieko and Hogai with his
sword. “The pretty little shugenja or the ox. Pick the one you want to watch
die next and which one you want to bring back home.”
Satsu’s
face darkened with rage.
“Pick
me, Satsu-sama!” Hogai shouted. “I am not afraid to die!”
“Oh?”
Kokujin asked, running one finger along his katana as he studied the blade.
“This isn’t mere death, Hogai-san. The anvil doesn’t just use blood to power
its magic. It uses souls. Whoever Satsu chooses won’t just die in agony.” His
eyes locked with Satsu’s again. “They will be bound in eternal torment inside
my sword.”
“Pick
me, Satsu-sama,” Hogai repeated, though his face was paler than before.
Chieko
said nothing, her eyes fixed on the ground.
“I
choose myself,” Satsu said.
Kokujin
rolled his eyes. “So predictable,” he said. “That was not a choice, little
cousin. Your blood won’t do. Pick one, or I feed both to the Anvil. My
wakizashi is complete. I only need one to finish my katana, but I suppose I
could use a tanto.”
Satsu
closed his eyes and lowered his head.
“Take
your time,” Kokujin said in a mocking voice.
“Pick
me, Satsu-sama,” Hogai said hoarsely. “I am nothing.”
Satsu
looked up at Hogai, his golden eyes tormented. He turned and looked at Chieko. She
looked back at him silently, her expression calm and serene. Satsu looked back
at Kokujin.
“I
have made my choice,” he whispered.
•
“It
is a miracle you are still alive, Wayan-sama,” Togashi Matsuo said, helping the
old monk sit upright against a stone outcropping.
“More
like a curse,” Wayan replied, wincing in agony as he settled against Matsuo’s
bedroll. The monk’s left leg was splinted and heavily bound. His chest and left
eye were covered with bloody bandages. His right arm hung limp and useless in a
sling. “You should have left me behind.”
“Normally
I defer to the Order of Hoshi’s timeless wisdom,” Mirumoto Rosanjin said,
stooping to spoon some cold rice out of a pot into a bowl. “However, in this
case, I think you’re being a fool.”
“Am I?” Wayan asked, glaring at
the samurai. “I cannot walk. I can barely be carried. You cannot pursue Kokujin
while dragging a dying old man through the Twilight Mountains.”
“Stop being selfish!” Rosanjin
snapped, glaring at the old monk.
“Selfish?” Wayan asked, incredulous.
“What are you talking about?”
“Rosanjin, you cannot talk to
Master Wayan like that,” Matsuo said angrily. “He is the greatest hero of the
Brotherhood.”
“Exactly,” Rosanjin retorted. He
looked back at Wayan. “Even wounded, you are the most experienced warrior among
us. Matsuo has his tattoos and I have my swords, but all of our weapons and
talents are nothing compared to your wisdom. Neither of us knows Kokujin as you
do. Without your guidance we are doomed.”
“I am dying,” Wayan said in a
weak voice. “I will not last the night.”
“Then know this, monk,” Rosanjin
replied. If you die, I will follow you into Meido and drag you back here. So
stay alive, you coward.” He shoved the bowl of rice toward Wayan.
“Very well then,” Wayan said in a
determined voice. “If you will not let me die in peace then I have no choice
but to live.” He took the bowl from Rosanjin and held it to his mouth, chewing
deliberately.
“Let’s
go patrol, Matsuo,” Rosanjin said, rising. “Master Wayan should be safe here
for a while.”
Matsuo
nodded silently and followed the samurai. He said nothing more as they made
their way through the rocky terrain, his lips fixed into a thin line.
“You
think I was disrespectful,” Rosanjin whispered as they skulked through the
shadows.
Matsuo
nodded, angry.
“I
am no healer, Matsuo,” Rosanjin said. “It was your knowledge of herbalism that
saved Master Wayan’s life, but we both know without a shugenja he won’t last
much longer.”
Matsuo
nodded again.
“But
we both also know that Hoshi Wayan is the most obstinate man in the northern
provinces,” Rosanjin added. “I said what I did to keep him angry enough to
survive until we can find Chieko.”
“You’re
wrong,” Matsuo said softly.
Rosanjin
looked at the tattooed man curiously.
“You’re
wrong,” he repeated. “Wayan isn’t the most obstinate man in the northern
provinces. That honor belongs to a certain Mirumoto samurai I know.”
Rosanjin
chuckled. “That may well be,” he said.
Matsuo climbed onto a rocky ledge
and peered out into the darkness. His tattoo became the wolf, letting his eyes
pierce the shadow with ease.
“Any
sign?” Rosanjin asked hopefully.
“Of
what?” Matsuo replied.
“Anything,”
Rosanjin answered. “If we could even find the path back the way we came, at
least that would be something.”
“Nothing
but rocks and trees,” Matsuo said, shaking his head as he climbed back down.
“Without Hogai to guide us, we are lost.”
“Damn
these mountains to Jigoku,” Rosanjin swore. “We could wander forever and never
find Shiro Heichi.”
“That
may be Kokujin’s intent,” Matsuo answered. “His challenge was to Satsu, and
perhaps now he has Satsu. Kobai was not interested in us. Kokujin may be
content to let us wander out here, lost, until we die.” Matsuo sniffed the air
carefully. “That may not take long, either. I smell a storm in the air. This
high in the mountains, that may well mean a blizzard.”
“I
will not surrender,” Rosanjin swore. “Not to Kokujin, not to the storm itself.
We will survive, Matsuo, and we will rescue Satsu and the others.”
“I
hope you are right,” Matsuo said. The young ise zumi suddenly tensed, sensing
something out of the ordinary. He glanced around warily.
“What
is it?” Rosanjin asked, swords instantly in his hands.
Matsuo
pointed just as a small light appeared in the distance, bobbing its way through
the rocky cliffs. The light was coming swiftly toward them, moving at a rapid
pace. Matsuo and Rosanjin quickly ducked behind a large boulder, peering out as
the light drew closer. They could see now that the light radiated from a
lantern borne by a figure floating up on the breeze. He was dressed in robes of
inky black painted with silver kanji of the elements. His face was covered with
a dark veil. The wind swirled about him, bearing him easily to the ground.
“Come
out, both of you,” the figure demanded in a surprisingly feminine voice,
pushing back the veil to reveal a woman’s face. She looked directly at Matsuo
and Rosanjin. “The earth will not hide you. The mountains whisper their secrets
to me.”
“She
is one of Kokujin’s shugenja,” Rosanjin whispered, taking out his bow. “One of
the ones that brought the mountain down on us.”
“No,”
Matsuo said, pushing Matsuo’s arm down as he drew an arrow across the bow. “If
she served Kokujin, there would be no warning.”
“Unless
this is another trap,” Rosanjin answered.
“Then
wait here,” Matsuo said. “I will find out her intent.”
“What
if she is hostile?” Rosanjin asked.
“Then
I’ll try not to stand in the way of your shot,” Matsuo answered.
Matsuo
stepped into the light, hands held out to show he held no weapons. The strange
woman’s eyes narrowed when she saw him. “You are tattooed,” she said. “Like the
others.” A small figure stepped out from behind her, standing between her and
Matsuo. Matsuo thought it was a goblin, then realized it was a tiny stone man
with large, oval eyes, glowing with a weird blue light. Its arms and legs were
stunted like a doll’s.
“Tattooed,
yes,” Matsuo said, looking down at the stone man warily, “but not like the
others. I am Togashi Matsuo of the Dragon Clan. My comrades and I came to fight
Kokujin, but we were ambushed. A friend of ours lies injured not far from here.
If you are shugenja, we would be grateful for your aid. Perhaps we could help
one another find our way out of these mountains.”
She
looked at him cautiously. “I am not lost, Dragon,” she said with a sneer. “I am
Heichi Jianzhen, and these mountains have belonged to my family for seven
centuries.”
“Heichi?”
Matsuo replied. “I thought the Boar Clan were no more.”
“Rokugan
cared little for my clan when it was destroyed,” she replied. “Why should
anyone care if we survive? We do not need the Empire. We have the Shakoki Dogu
to protect us.” She rested one hand on the tiny stone figure that stood before
her. “You were a fool to bring war to my home, Dragon.”
“I
do not intend to harm you,” Matsuo said.
“You
could not harm me if you wished to,” Jianzhen replied.
A
small tremor passed through the earth under Matsuo’s feet. On impulse, he
glanced over one shoulder.
Hundreds of pairs of glowing blue
eyes stared at him from the darkness, hundreds of Shakoki Dogu moving slowly
closer. Their shimmering eyes burned with silent rage.