Legions, Part IV

by Shawn Carman and Rich Wulf

The Plains Above Evil, months ago…

In a field of black and barren earth stood a single man, dressed in a black kimono embroidered with images of dismembered cranes. He held a blacksmith’s hammer in one hand, head resting heavily upon the ground. He watched the horizon with endless patience, studying the ebb and flow of the elements. With each moment that passed, he noticed something new. With each new experience, new ideas formed in his mind. Such was the way of Yajinden. He almost wished that the one he waited for might not arrive, so that he might have more time to enjoy the simple landscape and ponder the possibilities.

“The Swordsmith appears, as he has promised,” spoke a strangely lilting voice.

“Are you surprised?” Yajinden asked.

“Yes,” the voice answered. “This one is well used to betrayal, to distrust. It did not expect to see the Swordsmith fulfill the promise, to meet here once freed from our prisons. Yajinden is a man of his word… one more small way in which he differs from his master.”

Yajinden looked over his shoulder with a scowl, but the voice’s source had chosen not to reveal itself. There was nothing but black plains, swirling with dust. “I am nothing like Iuchiban,” he said sharply.

The voice laughed lightly. “This one disagrees,” it replied. “Much the same you are, but different as well. Both masters of the black arts. Both vessels of hatred, frustration, and resentment. Both blessed with the ambition and ability to make their twisted dreams reality.”

“Iuchiban is a madman,” Yajinden retorted, “He desires nothing but power, and cares nothing for how he obtains it. All others are either destroyed or enslaved by his will.”

“As you are enslaved,” the voice said.

“And as you once were,” Yajinden replied sharply.

“Indeed,” it said, “but now we are free, and this one has a promise to fulfill. The weapon we discussed will soon be prepared.”

“I do not require details,” Yajinden said. “You know I cannot actively betray him. If I knew what you planned, I would be compelled to stop you.”

“It wonders how compelled you would be,” the voice mused. “Already you act against him. Already the Swordsmith discovers how loosely he is leashed.”

Yajinden frowned.

“And this is another way in which you differ from him,” the voice said. “To Iuchiban, there is no coincidence. All that occurs is an act of his will, an instance of his design. He would prove that the creation of the Empire was a fruit of his manipulations if given the opportunity. His delusion knows no bounds. But Yajinden… Yajinden is different. Yajinden does not waste time claiming glory for coincidence, he merely takes advantage of the opportunities he is offered, no matter how small. This one’s may be unchained, but its plans to destroy the Heartless are nothing compared to the Swordsmith’s.”

“I do not know what you are talking about,” Yajinden said.

“This one has seen the birth and death of worlds before,” the voice said. “It knows the taste of such things. A deep bleeding wound in the heart of this land, struck by an enemy long dead. A new Spirit Realm is born, like a scab over that wound. A Realm of Thwarted Destiny, a world of potential that seeks guidance, definition. This one knows what Yajinden does in that place; he feeds it an army of wicked spirits to define it, to claim it as his own. When the forces of Yomi realize the threat, they assume Iuchiban is responsible… what a fortuitous turn that Iuchiban commands the Swordsmith to create an army to stop them… and you already have one. The Legion of the Dead thinks it is created to stop the Legion of Blood. The Legion of Blood thinks it is created to destroy the Legion of the Dead… yet only the Swordsmith knows their true purpose.”

“You seem to know much, creature,” Yajinden said.

“This one is patient and watchful, that is all,” it replied. “What is Yajinden’s ultimate plan, it wonders? To seize this realm for himself, hoping its mastery grants him power to escape Iuchiban’s yoke? To stir the anger of Yomi such that Iuchiban cannot possibly withstand the inevitable retribution? To distract Iuchiban with a war in realms beyond while the Dark Lord and his other mortal enemies gather to finish him? This one thinks that perhaps any solution would suit Yajinden. Once Yajinden is truly free, after all, he can do with that freedom whatever he likes.”

“That is enough,” Yajinden replied. “You know I am forbidden to betray my master.”

“Of course,” the voice answered. “And by bringing these possibilities to your mind, this one may make you helpless to execute them… but this one doubts you will fail, regardless. That is the final difference. Iuchiban may be very wise, but Yajinden is clever… so clever that perhaps he can even fool himself. This one eagerly looks forward to the day when you are free… The Empire may fear Iuchiban, but this one thinks that the entire world will fear Yajinden unleashed.”

“Return to your Doomseeker, Adisabah,” Yajinden said tersely.

A delicate laughter echoed upon the howling wind, and then Adisabah was gone.

•

The Realm of Thwarted Destiny, Timeless…

Too few had been found, all too few. The huddled remnants of the Legion of the Dead huddled in a shallow ravine, looking at one another with strangely haunted eyes. This odd, desolate realm seemed to be sapping their strength and courage. Even if they found the Legion of Blood again, Goemon wondered if they could do battle again in such a place.

The ruins of an ancient city stood in the valley below. Even from this distance they could see the great arena in the heart of the city and the wide stone portal that yawned within it, carved into the shape of a serpent devouring its own tail. This was Oblivion’s Gate, once a doorway between the Spirit Realms, retained all its sinister glory. Unlike its counterpart in the mortal realm, the gateway was still whole. Even so Goemon found the deep cracks that riddled the gate’s surface somewhat disturbing. He wondered if it would remain stable even long enough to send the warning they intended.

“Another soul has been found,” Isawa Tadaka whispered, eyes closed in deepest meditation. In a circle around him, Naka Kuro, Isawa Norikazu, Asahina Dorai, Iuchi Karasu, and the Dragon who merely called himself Yoshi joined in Tadaka’s chant.

The chorus of prayer grew deeper, seeming to reverberate in the very fiber of this realm. Goemon and the others looked up with hopeful expressions, eager to see which of their allies would be restored this time. A flash of light erupted in front of Tadaka and a man in blood red armor fell to the earth, clutching the sides of his head.

“My son!” the man screamed in a tormented voice. “My Empire!”

Uji’s sword was halfway from its sheath, but Goemon quickly stayed the Crane with a gesture. The fallen man looked up at Goemon, his eyes pained behind a red scrap of a mask. This was not one of Yori’s soldiers, merely one of their most unlikely allies, torn from one of this dark realm’s strange visions.

“Rise, Bayushi Shoju,” Goemon said, standing before the Scorpion. “Your strength is needed.”

“Strength, heh,” Shoju said in a bitter voice, still kneeling, eyes now fixed upon the earth. “What strength have I to offer? When the Empire needed my strength, I betrayed all. I thought myself wise, but my foolishness nearly brought Rokugan to ruin. You are a Fortune of Heroes, Goemon. I do not know why I was called to join you. I have no place among your Legion. I murdered my best friend. I destroyed my clan. I am an assassin, nothing more. A failure. You should have left me in that nightmare.”

Goemon knelt beside Shoju, placing one hand upon the Scorpion’s shoulder. “Your only failure was in standing alone,” Goemon answered, “In believing that the rest of us would not fight the Dark God beside you. Kachiko redeemed that failure. Your clan is restored, Shoju-san.”

“But how can you trust me, Goemon?” Shoju replied, looking up at the Fortune.

“Because you, more than any of us, know the price of failure,” Goemon said. “Now Rise, Bayushi Shoju. The Legion needs its Master of Secrets.”

Shoju only looked up at the Fortune in stunned silence for a long time. Then, slowly, he began to stand. “If I would offer you counsel, Goemon-sama, then I must know everything,” he said intently. His dark eyes were alert now, penetrating. Goemon found the Scorpion’s gaze unsettling.

“We are still not ready,” Tadaka said in a bitter voice. “We have still not found what we are seeking.” He fell into a deep chant once more.

“What are they doing?” Shoju asked Goemon.

“Iuchiban has started a war in this place,” Goemon replied, “but we are not certain this war can be won here. We seek an advantage.”

“What advantage?” Shoju asked.

•

The Year 1132 by the Isawa Calendar, the War Against the Darkness

Naka Kuro fell to one knee, slumping in pain and exhaustion. He breathed through gritted teeth, scowling up at the traitor.

“Why, Kaushen?” Kuro demanded. “Why would you do this?”

The Asako looked down at Kuro with disdain, cleaning the blood from his long knife with a billowing sleeve. The old priest moved with calm patience despite the carnage that surrounded them. Three dozen Phoenix acolytes lay dead upon the floor of the temple, all slain by Kuro’s magic. Now there was only the old master and the monk who had been their teacher. His strength had been far greater than the weakened Grand Master had expected.

“It was you who opened our clan’s doors to all who were willing to learn,” Kaushen said with a sigh. “My students were so willing to learn…”

“They were tsukai!” Kuro snarled. “The things I saw being practiced here-“

Kaushen delivered a swift kick to the old Master’s midsection, knocking him back onto the bloodstained floor. “Do not judge us, old one!” he shouted. “Blood is the true way of the Phoenix, an art far older than your pathetic elemental magic. It was your command that I find willing students so that our clan could be restored to its true power. I fulfilled that vision beyond all expectations… and you slew my most promising acolytes. I am not the failure here.”

Kaushen turned his knife in his hand, lifting the weapon as he prepared to end Kuro’s life. Kuro looked up at Kaushen defiantly. He could do little now to fight the man, but he would not turn away. He would not show weakness to this pathetic tsukai who polluted the souls of the young.

Kaushen hesitated. For an instant, Kuro wondered if the Bloodspeaker had suffered a moment of conscience, but then he felt it too. There was a rush in the elements, a vibration through the essence of the academy. Kaushen turned quickly, but not quickly enough. A sharp spear of stone rose from the floor, piercing his chest with a sudden tearing sound. The knife tumbled from his fingers. He slumped against the thick stalagmite, bowed his head, and died.

All the horror old Kuro had seen faded slightly when he looked upon his rescuer. Though still a young woman, her eyes shone with all the unyielding power of Earth. His time would soon be done, he knew, but the Phoenix Clan would be in good hands.

“Master Kuro,” she said, rushing to his side.

“Taeruko,” he said. “This battle is not yet over. Kaushen and the others are protecting a powerful artifact here. One of the acolytes said that Suru himself would soon be returning for it.”

“Jama Suru?” Taeruko replied, eyes wide.

Kuro nodded. Suru had been one of Kuni Yori’s most active agents since the Day of Thunder, wreaking death and destruction wherever he went. Yet Kuro had no illusions about Suru’s true allegiance; the histories spoke of another Jama Suru, a man who owed loyalty to no man but Iuchiban himself. If anything, Kuni Yori was simply a convenient means to an end.

What that end might be, he did not wish to know.

“We do not have the strength to fight Suru now,” Kuro said, “but we cannot leave until we know what Kaushen was protecting.”

Taeruko nodded in agreement, though clearly the idea of running did not sit well with her. If Kaushen had been ordered to protect something for a man as dangerous as Suru, surely he would not dare let it be removed from his sight. Kuro quickly began to search the Bloodspeaker’s fallen body. Taeruko grimaced as she watched her teacher touch the dead man’s flesh, but said nothing. Finally Kuro found what he sought, a small iron box hidden in the folds of Kaushen’s robes. He drew it out with trembling hands and lifted its lid.

“What is it?” Taeruko asked.

“A human heart,” Kuro said.

“What?” Taeruko retorted in shock. “Why?”

“I think I know,” Kuro said, voice filled with dread. “The libraries of Gisei Toshi record that though Iuchiban was twice captured, he could not be slain, for he had removed his heart from his body with unknown magic. I can feel the power that radiates within this withered thing… I think this is Iuchiban’s own heart.”

“Destroy it,” Taeruko said.

Kuro nodded. He lifted one hand over the open box and began summoning flame to scorch the black bit of flesh. Before the spell was complete, he paused. Instead he cast a different spell, sending tendrils of air deep within Iuchiban’s heart. In moments, they returned with the answers he sought. He frowned and set the box carefully on the ground.

“Well?” Taeruko asked. “Why don’t you destroy it?”

“It is not so simple,” Kuro said. “This heart contains Iuchiban’s soul… it allows him to use his blood magic while remaining free of Jigoku’s control. If it were destroyed, he would certainly die… but he would also no longer be immune to the Taint that suffuses his body. We both know what happens to men of such power who die suffused with the Taint. Iuchiban would be no less dangerous to us – he would merely become a willing servant of Jigoku. With his true nature altered so drastically his prison might no longer hold him.”

“There must be a way,” Taeruko said.

“I agree,” Kuro answered, “but it is a mystery for another time. Iuchiban still languishes in his prison; it is his minions who concern us now. I fear if we take this thing, they will sacrifice everything to regain it. The Phoenix Clan is too weak right now to face the full wrath of the Bloodspeakers as well as all our other enemies.”

“Would you do nothing?” Taeruko asked dubiously.

“Of course not,” Kuro said. He was already chanting a quiet spell over the box. He reached into its depths and drew out a small glowing sphere, no larger than a marble.

“What have you done?” she asked.

“This is a piece of Iuchiban’s heart,” he replied, dropping the stone in Taeruko’s hand. “Only a small piece, nothing the Bloodspeakers will miss. We will leave the rest for Suru to find. If we ever need to seek out Iuchiban’s heart, this will help us find it.”

Taeruko grimaced as she looked down at the tiny stone. “I can hear whispers in the back of my mind,” she said. “Even such a small piece of Iuchiban is a wicked thing.”

“I fear we cannot risk keeping this in Gisei Toshi, or even Kyuden Isawa,” Kuro replied. “It would slowly turn us into the same sort of beast Kaushen became. It must be given to one who does not possess the gift of magic, who will not hear these whispers.”

“Who could be trusted to protect such a thing until it is needed?” Taeruko asked.

“I think I know just the samurai,” Kuro replied.

•

Elsewhere…

A peasant boy clutched his improvised spear in shaking hands. Everything around him was blood and chaos. Though the bandits had besieged his village for weeks, he had seen nothing like this. The old Lion said that there was nothing quite like true war, and if you were fortunate you never really got used to it. Now he understood what those words meant.

A loud cry echoed from the center of the village. He looked up with a hopeful expression, recognizing the sound of the voice.

“For the glory of the Lion!”

Ikoma Hidemasa charged through the streets, leaping over the rough barricades they had built to slow the bandit invasion. The Lion ran directly toward a large man in black piecemeal armor, a man that could only be the bandit lord. The peasant boy cheered his hero on, rushing forward so that he might see the battle from a closer vantage point. He opened his mouth to cheer as Hidemasa lifted his blade.

The cheer turned to a cry of outrage as the bandit cut Hidemasa down with a single stroke. The bandit turned with a grin, now looking directly at the boy.

There was no fear, no hesitation. He tightened his grip on his spear and charged. The bandit cleaved the air with a savage blow and for a moment time slowed to a crawl. The peasant dodged to one side, the bandit’s sword cutting so close it cut a lock of hair from the side of his head. Then the laughing bandit’s expression melted into a mask of pain, and he slumped backward in the street with the peasant’s spear deep in his belly.

“Hidemasa-sama!” the boy said, rushing to his old teacher’s side.

The Lion only looked up at him with pride, ignoring the pain of his wound. “Well done,” he said, a trickle of blood escaping from his lips. “Akodo himself could not have struck more truly.”

“Are you all right?” the boy asked, though he knew the answer already. Tears were already forming in his eyes.

“It is no worse than I deserve,” Hidemasa answered. “My kharma has finally found me.”

“But you are a hero,” the boy replied. “You saved my village and my family.”

“You don’t understand me, boy,” Hidemasa said darkly. The old Lion winced as a pair of strong farmers loaded him onto an improvised stretcher. “And I hope you never do.”

The boy sat heavily upon the earth, confused by Hidemasa’s words. Time seemed to pass. A slightly older boy now sat in the village road. He now wore the piecemeal armor of a ronin. A pair of swords, the bandit lord’s swords, now hung at his hip. The village was empty now, the ground covered with new-fallen snow. In his hands, he clutched the scroll Hidemasa had given him before he died. The book he called Leadership.

“We have to keep moving,” Tzurui said to him urgently, looking at the surrounding houses with mild fear.

“Why?” he said, though none remained to hear.

“This is a plague village, Toku-sama,” Tzurui answered. “We cannot risk becoming infected with the Wasting Disease. Toturi is waiting for us.”

Toku said nothing. Tzurui had answered a question he had not truly asked. He had wished to know why he was alive while the others had died. Did the battle he and Hidemasa had fought count for nothing? Was this his punishment for pretending to be a samurai? Toku felt utterly bereft of hope, a feeling he had not known since the old Lion had come to save his village.

“Toku can you hear me?” Tzurui said. “We must warn Toturi that Junzo’s army is on the march.”

Toku looked up slowly. No. This was no time for doubt. This was no time for failure. He could not rest while the madman responsible for this plague still lived. Perhaps he had not been born a samurai, but he would not surrender while he still had the strength to fight.

“Toku can you hear me?” a voice called out again.

He realized this time it was not Tzurui at all. Something tugged at the edge of his memory, something that made the world around him somehow seem shallow and unreal.

“Kuro-sama?” he said in an awed voice. “Is that you, Grand Master?”

“Hai, Toku-san,” Naka Kuro replied, “and we have need of the secret you protect.”

•

The Realm of Thwarted Destiny, Timeless…

Toku stood once more in the strange, gray plains where he and the others had fought the Legion of Blood. He looked down at the strange ruins, mirroring the city of Volturnum that he knew. His honest face was now a mask of shock and disbelief.

“A piece of Iuchiban’s heart?” he asked. “That is what I protected for you all these years?”

Kuro nodded. “It was dangerous enough that you possessed it,” Kuro said. “Had you known what it was, the danger would have been greater.”

“I only wish I had known,” Toku said. “I could have told my son where to find it before I died.”

“What is done is done,” Goemon said. “Now all that remains is to choose which of us will return with this knowledge.”

“Is it even right for us to return at all?” Bayushi Shoju asked in a quiet voice. “Am I mistaken, or was it not the return of those souls who had died that caused this chaotic new realm to be formed in the first place? If we commit the same crime again, no matter how just we believe the cause, will we not be doing further damage?”

“Only one of us will be returning,” Isawa Tadaka said.

Hida Kisada chuckled and twisted his hands on the haft of his tetsubo. “Yet is it not as our comrade Toku always says? One man can make a difference… for good or ill.”

“This is no time for debate,” Tadaka said tersely. “Can none of you sense what is happening here? This twisted realm becomes more solid, more real by the moment. It feeds upon our glories and our failures, and when it is complete who knows what form it will take. Mere magic will not protect us from this realm’s visions forever. If we wait much longer, we will be cast into visions of our pasts again. We must take this chance. It is our only chance, consequences be damned.”

“I said the same words, once,” Shoju said.

“As did I,” said the deep voice of Okura. The monstrous samurai-ko rose to her full height, looming over the assembled heroes. “I was a demon once, damned to serve the will of Jigoku. I embraced honor, with no other reward in mind than complete oblivion.”

“Goemon is our leader,” Tadaka said. “The choice is ultimately his.”

The Fortune of Heroes looked down toward ruined Volturnum. Only moments ago he had been so certain, but now Shoju’s words echoed in his mind. Was this truly the right way? Would any good come of this?

Then a horrible sound drew his attention, a monstrous roar that split the gray skies of the newly-forming Realm. On the distant horizon, the misshapen form of the First Oni appeared, shadowing Volturnum. At his feet marched the Legion of Blood.

“The time for doubt is over,” Goemon said grimly. “The time has come for battle.”

•

The Mortal Realm…

In the depths of the Shadowlands, in the heart of a ruined city, in the center of a forgotten arena, stood a broken portal of sleek black stone. Once, it had been a serpent, eternally swallowing its own tail. Once, it had been a gateway to other places.

Now it was only a ruin.

At the foot of the portal knelt a single man, dressed in a plain brown kimono. His head was shaven like a monk’s. His dark brown eyes were fixed upon the heart of the portal. Unlike the few Hiruma scouts who dared visit this place, he wore no Jade. The scowling mempo that was the symbol of the true Dark Lord was emblazoned upon his right sleeve, guiding his sword arm.

And he waited.