Lifeless, Part One
by
Rich
Wulf
She did not know how long she had been in this strange place, or how she had come to be here. Endless plains of dying grass surrounded her, blanketed in a dense, roiling fog. There was no sun, no moon, only a harsh half-light that cast everything in an ghastly radiance. Dozens of other men and women wandered the plains, eyes glazed with hopelessness. Some wore armor that resembled her own, though most were washed out in tones of gray. The colors, for those who were not yet gray, struck a chord with her. They seemed important, somehow. She could not recall why. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes hollow. Each time she approached one to ask who they were, how they had all come here, they would quickly vanish into the fog.
She
was alone.
Though
she could not remember who she was, loneliness felt wrong to her. It seemed
almost as if there were a time, long ago, when she was alone. She could not
call upon the memory but it struck her as a thing better left forgotten. It was
better to be surrounded by those you loved. There was no place for her here.
The
most irritating part of this place was the sameness of it all. As much as she
wandered, there was no change in her surroundings. This, too, felt unnatural.
It was in her heart to explore. If there was no purpose in exploring, if all
was the same, then what else was there? A great sadness fell upon her. After
wandering the gray plains for many days, she noticed that her once brilliant
armor was beginning to adopt the same gray, washed-out tones of the other lost
souls. She wondered what color it had once been.
Noticing
a pool of water nearby, she hurried to kneel beside it. She was not thirsty,
but was eager to see something other than the unending wasteland. Her
reflection looked up from the water curiously, a timeless face with pale skin
and deep brown eyes. She looked at herself for some time before she felt the
eyes of another upon her. She glanced up to find a wandering soul sitting
cross-legged on the other side of the pool. It was a man, proud and
broad-shouldered with the elegant features of a noble. His hair was cropped
short in a style unfamiliar to her. He wore a fine kimono of pure white silk.
“Greetings,”
he said, his deep voice resonating with a strange accent. “You have come to
enjoy the refreshing waters of my oasis?”
“I
do not meant to intrude,” she said, bowing politely. “I saw the pool and was
overjoyed to see something new.”
The
man smiled to himself, as if her words somehow satisfied him. “I take no
offense,” he said. “Feel free to gaze into these waters as long as you like.
You may be surprised what you find.”
She
looked at him curiously. “You do not have the same confused look as the other
souls I have seen,” she said. “You do not retreat from me as they do.”
“That
is only natural,” the man said with a sigh. “They fear our kind. We remind them
too much of what they have lost, I fear.”
“And
what have they lost?” she asked.
“Is
it not obvious?” he asked with a laugh. “They have lost their lives. This is the
land of the dead.”
She dipped one hand into the
pool, startled by the water’s coolness. She looked at her open palm. The skin
was calloused from a lifetime of hard work and combat.
“I
was a warrior,” she said. “Though I took no joy in killing.”
The
man nodded. “Already you begin to remember,” he said. “The pool’s magic is
strong. You were a valiant warrior. Your courage was exceeded only by your
mercy. Even your greatest enemies, those who proved their cruelty and
ruthlessness time and again, were not beyond redemption in your esteem.”
Her
eyes narrowed slightly. “Do I know you?” she asked. “You seem familiar.”
“We
have met before,” the man admitted. “It was a long time ago. You probably do
not remember me, but I remember you. Do you remember your name?”
She
looked down at her armor. The gray tarnish had fallen away, now replaced with
brilliant purple enamel. “I am Shinjo,” she said, looking up at him again.
“And
do you know what that means?” he asked.
“I
am a goddess,” she replied, closing her eyes as memory filled her. “I am a
daughter of Onnotangu and Amaterasu, the First Moon and the First Sun. I rode
forth to persuade my brother to halt his invasion of heaven, to plead with him
to turn his armies aside.”
“Fu
Leng did not accept your offer,” the man said sadly.
“He
murdered me,” Shinjo said a tear falling from the corner of one eye. One hand
rose, balling into a fist over her heart. “I came to him in love, and he smiled
as he stabbed me in the chest.”
“You
were too trusting, Shinjo,” the man said. “That has always been your greatest
strength, and your greatest weakness.”
She
wiped the tears away with the back of one hand, then looked about urgently. Her
gaze was sharp now, unclouded by her lack of identity. “Where am I now?” she
asked. “I must return to Tengoku so that I can rejoin the fight against my
brother.”
“You
are far from Tengoku now,” the man said. “This is Meido. The Gray Realm. The
Realm of Death. The Realm of Waiting. There is no escape from this place for
those who belong here. The war is no longer your concern.”
“No
longer my concern?” Shinjo snapped, glaring at the stranger. “Fu Leng seeks to
corrupt the Heavens, to slaughter all those who were once mortal and are now
divine.”
“A
terrible crisis, to be sure,” the man agreed. “There are few gods in Rokugan
that were not once mortal. Once your brother finishes with those who were once
mortal, he will turn on those who aided them. Fu Leng will not stop until the
Heavens lie empty.”
Shinjo
sighed. “He has changed so much. I feel as if I no longer know him. You speak
as if you are familiar with him.”
The
man nodded. “I have dealt with him in the past. I understand something of why
he acts as he does. When Fu Leng fell to Jigoku, his thoughts of revenge were
the only thing that allowed him to deal with the horrors he encountered there.
Now, revenge is all that he has left. He would go to any end to achieve that
goal. Turning him from his current course would be… difficult.”
“It
is difficult for me to believe my brother would do such a thing,” Shinjo
whispered.
“Perhaps
that is why you are dead now,” the man said.
“Do
not mock me,” Shinjo said in a low voice.
“Have
I said anything that is untrue?” the man asked, raising one eyebrow. He looked
at her impassively. She noticed for the first time that his eyes were pure
black, with no white whatsoever.
“No,”
Shinjo admitted. “Even so it galls me that I am in such a state. In the mortal
realm my brothers and I could be killed, but in the Heavens? I was immortal.
How could even Fu Leng accomplish such a thing?”
“No
power is absolute,” the man replied. “The spear Fu Leng carries was created by
Emma-O to defend this realm. That weapon is the physical manifestation of the
Fortune of Death’s power. All who are slain by it are bound here in Meido for
all eternity.”
“Bah,”
Shinjo replied, brow furrowing in thought. “Fu Leng was also bound in Meido,
yet he escaped.”
“Fu
Leng was never killed by the spear,” the man answered. “Emma-O feared Fu Leng
too much to attack him directly. As soon as the Dark Kami arrived here, the
Fortune of Death bound his spirit in powerful magics and sealed him away while
he was still disoriented. It was only when Fu Leng’s servant, Daigotsu, tricked
Emma-O that the Fortune was forced to release your brother. That was when Fu
Leng saw the potential within the spear, and took it for his own.”
“You
know a great deal about all of this,” Shinjo said, looking at the man warily.
“You said that you had dealings with my brother in the past. My memory has
returned, yet I do not know your face. Who are you?”
“A
friend,” the man said. “I have no true name.”
“Why
do you retain your memory when everyone else only wanders?” she asked.
“I
am quite familiar with the effects of realms such as these,” he said. “I
prepared myself before I ventured here.”
She
continued to watch him in suspicion. “Emma-O is a vigilant guardian,” she said.
“How did you escape his notice?”
“Emma-O
is not the Fortune he once was,” the man said. “His failure to contain Fu Leng
has made him panicked, distracted, prone to mistakes. My allies and I were able
to enter this realm unnoticed, for a time.”
“You
said you were a friend,” she pressed, a slow suspicion dawning on her. “That is
why you dare the Fortune of Death’s wrath? Friendship?”
“More
than that,” the man said. “I owe your people a favor. I intend to repay that
favor today.”
“By
helping me regain my memory?” Shinjo asked. “A small consolation, now that I
know I shall be trapped here forever. I think I preferred ignorance.”
“Your
memory is only part of the gift I offer,” the man replied. “I intend to help
you regain your freedom. If you truly do not wish my aid, then just continue as
you were. The magic of the pool will fade soon and you will return to your
fugue state.”
Shinjo
dipped her hand into the water, watching the liquid drip from the tips of her
long fingers. “You told me that there was no escape,” she said.
“I
said that there is no escape for those who belong here,” he corrected. “Here,
as in all things, one who pays careful attention to the rules can always find a
way to circumvent them without breaking them.”
“So what must I do?” she
asked.
“Follow
me,” he said, rising and smoothing his long robes over his chest. She noticed
that he was much taller than he had seemed when sitting. He turned and strode
away across the gray fields, pausing when he realized Shinjo had not yet risen.
He looked back at her placidly for a long moment.
“I told you that trust has always
been your greatest strength, and your greatest weakness,” the man said. “You
need to begin recognizing the difference.” He continued walking again. The
message was clear. Whether she chose to take this opportunity or sit by the
pool forever was ultimately her choice.
Shinjo
quickly stood and followed the stranger, glancing about as she did so for any
sign of ambush or attack. In a vague way, she hoped for an attack. It would be
easier to deal with than this. As much as she despised war, she excelled at
combat. Problems seemed so much simpler when they could be solved with a sword.
She almost wished that her brother, Bayushi, were here. He could be
untrustworthy at times, but he was an excellent judge of character. Bayushi
would have known whether or not to follow the white-robed stranger. Then again,
Bayush would never have trusted Fu Leng and fallen into this situation.
The
two walked in silence over the gray plains. The other wandering souls avoided
them, though some paused to look curiously at her companion before they
vanished into the fog. The stranger paid them no mind, his attention solely on
the path ahead.
“You
mentioned allies,” Shinjo said as they walked. “You did not come here alone.”
“No,”
the man said with a quick smile. “I came here with my brothers. They are
attending to the Fortune of Death, making certain that he does not know what we
plan.”
“I
see,” Shinjo said. “I hope that you mean him no harm. Emma-O is an important
deity, worthy of respect.”
The
man did not reply immediately. “My brothers intend to show him all the respect
that he is due,” he said evasively. “Now, Shinjo, look upon your destiny.” He
gestured at the valley ahead.
The
fog parted and Shinjo saw an enormous stone portal, carved in the shape of a
spiraling serpent devouring its own tail. At times, the portal shimmered with a
holy white radiance. Sometimes, it leaked a sickly black light. Most of the
time it was empty and dormant.
Shinjo looked sharply at the
stranger. “That portal resembles Oblivion’s Gate,” she said, “the portal
through which the Lying Darkness tried to destroy the Empire.”
“The
resemblance is no coincidence,” the man said. “Just as Oblivion’s Gate brought
new life to the dead, so will this portal bring new life to you. However, you
must be prepared to pay the price for your freedom.”
“What
price is that?” Shinjo asked.
“My
sister?” called a voice from the fog. “Is that you?”
Shinjo
looked up suddenly, eyes wide. She recognized the source of the voice, though
she could not bring herself to believe it. A short, stocky man stepped forward
from the mists, his face calm and serene. Long white hair hung limply around a
bald scalp. He bowed deeply. At her side, the white-robed stranger smiled.
“Ryoshun!”
Shinjo exclaimed, rushing forward to embrace her brother. He chuckled and
clumsily hugged her in return.
“Now,
now, Shinjo-chan,” Ryoshun said, his voice thick as joyful tears streamed down
his cheeks. “We do not have much time before Emma-O finds us.”
“I
thought that you had perished during the Battle of Oblivion’s Gate,” she said,
looking into his eyes in wonder. “Yet when I returned to Tengoku you were not
there.”
“My
place is here,” Ryoshun replied, a note of regret in his voice. “I am the
steward of lost souls. When the Fortune of Death deems their time in Meido
complete, I send them on to their destiny. Why did you not come to me sooner,
Shinjo-chan? You do not belong here.”
Shinjo
looked at Ryoshun curiously. “I am dead, my brother,” she said. “Fu Leng slew
me.”
Ryoshun
nodded. “Yes, but Meido is more than simply a realm of the dead,” he said.
“Meido is a realm for those burdened by sins and misdeeds. You are a goddess, a
hero. You do not deserve this punishment.”
“Ryoshun,
you are too innocent,” the white-robed man chuckled. “Of course, that is why
you are perfectly suited to aid the souls of the forgotten.” He stroked his
chin with one hand. Shinjo noticed that his fingers and wrist were decorated in
many golden rings and bracelets. “Emma-O has always despised the Kami, for
while they live in paradise and are honored by Rokugan, he must serve as warden
over countless broken souls. Only Ryoshun has ever made the effort to aid him.
Emma-O took great relish in Fu Leng’s imprisonment, and was humiliated when the
Dark Kami escaped. Now it seems one Kami’s soul is as good as another. He would
have kept you here forever, Shinjo, to slake his petty vengeance.”
“But
no longer,” Shinjo said. “I will step through the portal, return to Heaven, and
carry the fight to Fu Leng!”
“No,”
the man in white said. “As I said, the Heavens is beyond you now. There is only
one path that leads a dead soul from Meido, and that leads to an altogether
different destiny.”
Shinjo
looked to Ryoshun. Her brother nodded sadly.
“He
speaks truth,” Ryoshun said. “You are too closely bound to this realm. The only
way for you to leave now is the way the others leave, when they are ready.” He
looked back at the gates, then back at his sister. “Pass through this gate, and
you will be reincarnated according to your kharma.”
Shinjo
blinked. “I would become mortal?”
Ryoshun
nodded. “Most likely. You would be born again to human parents with no memory
of your former life. In time, you may recognize some measure what you were and
become such a legend that your life as Shinjo will pale in comparison.”
“Or, perhaps, you might fail and
fade into obscurity,” the man in white said. “Such is the risk of being
mortal.”
“Then
I will take that risk,” Shinjo said, looking up at the portal. “Better than
wandering here forever.”
“I
am glad you made the right decision,” the man in white said, dark eyes
gleaming. “You will not regret your choice.”
“I
had best not,” she said, looking back at him fiercely. “You think that I do not
recognize you, but I know who you are now. You have proven yourself reliable,
but if I find you and your kin have aided me out of some misbegotten design to
harm the Unicorn, I will find you. I will defeat you as I did before, even if I
am mortal.”
The
man smiled. “Make no mistake, Shinjo, I intend to benefit from this arrangement
more than you do, but I have not lied to you. I swear to you that my brethren
and I will not harm the Unicorn Clan. In that, we are of one mind.”
Shinjo
looked at the man for a long moment, gauging his sincerity. With a final
satisfied nod she turned, kissed her brother on the cheek, and stepped through
the glimmering portal.
And
then she was gone.
•
Ryoshun
and the white-robed stranger remained where they were for a long time, watching
the shimmering portal of the dead.
“And
what will you do now, stranger?” Ryoshun asked, looking up at the man
curiously. He was very tall now, almost twice Ryoshun’s height. “You and your
allies should flee before Emma-O realizes what you have done.”
The
man smiled, revealing fine, white teeth. “I do not fear the Fortune of Death,”
he said, his voice growing deeper and more resonant as he spoke. “Even now my
nine brothers invade his palace, taking it for our own.”
Ryoshun’s
eyes widened. “You have attacked a Fortune?”
“I
have not, but my brothers have,” the man said. He studied the back of his hand,
watched as the skin faded to be replaced with a skeletal form. “By now Emma-O’s
palace has been conquered, his guards replaced with our own.”
Ryoshun’s
looked up at the man, now fully revealed in his true form. He was a tall,
skeletal figure garbed in kingly robes and fine jewelry. Ryoshun’s immortal
soul was filled with horror as he realized he stood before one of the Shi-Tien
Yen-Wang, a Lord of Death. The gaijin death gods had ruled the Moto for three
thousand years before their defeat at Shinjo’s hands.
Now they had returned.
Now
Shinjo, who defeated them in the past, was gone.
“I
will not stand for this,” Ryoshun said in a quiet but steady voice.
“Stand
for what?” the Lord of Death replied mildly. He looked down at Ryoshun, bony
face unreadable. “You misunderstand me, Ryoshun. The Shi-Tien Yen-Wang are a
force for order. In days of old, we judged the dead much as Emma-O did,
enforcing that order upon all those who would not bow before us. Unlike Emma-O,
we never let a soul escape.”
“But you helped Shinjo
escape!” Ryoshun shouted.
“And
Emma-O should have stopped us,” the Lord of Death replied, looking down at
Ryoshun with a steady, immovable gaze. “Your Fortune of Death is incompetent.
We have done your Celestial Order a favor in disposing of him. When the war in
Tengoku is done the other Fortunes will look upon us and weigh our actions. We
saved Okura, Guardian of the Gates. We aided Jade, protector of mortals. We
helped Shinjo move on to the next stage of her existence. And now we impose our
will upon Meido, restoring order to the land of the dead.”
“You
cannot simply conquer a Spirit Realm,” Ryoshun said. “The Fortunes will not
stand for this any more than they will stand for Fu Leng’s invasion of
Tengoku.”
The
Lord of Death sighed. “Ryoshun, you overestimate your position. The forces of
Heaven care nothing for Meido, so long as it is orderly. Emma-O has proven
himself unable to maintain that order. It was he who allowed a mortal to trick
him into releasing Fu Leng, while we have been staunch allies of Heaven from
the beginning of this war. If we ask for Meido in return for our aid, do you
think that we will be denied? Do you truly believe that the powers of Tengoku
will not find such an arrangement the most beneficial for all involved? They
will not leap upon such a chance to punish Emma-O and reward the Shi-Tien
Yen-Wang in one fell swoop. You, of all deities, should know how easy it is for
your brethren to overlook the dead. Do you truly believe the Sun and Moon care
if Meido is ruled by one death god or ten?”
Ryoshun
frowned severely. He bowed his head, limp hair, hanging over his face. “No,” he
said. “I do not believe any of that will matter to them.”
“I
would prefer not to have you as an enemy, Ryoshun,” the Lord of Death said.
“Will you serve us?”
Ryoshun
looked up, locking gazes with the Lord of Death. “I will not help you fight
Emma-O,” he said, “but for helping my sister, I will not stand against you
either.”
“Very
well, then,” the Lord of Death said, his jaw clattering in satisfaction. “It is
an honor to have met you, Ryoshun. If there is anything we can do to make your
duties here more comfortable, do not hesitate to let us know. Now I must leave
and help my brethren secure our new palace. Arigato.”
With
that, the skeletal god vanished from sight, leaving Ryoshun alone beside the
shimmering portal.
“I
hope you find your way, Shinjo-chan,” Ryoshun said, looking back at the
shimmering portal. “I pray that you are as strong in the next life as you were
in the last. In a world such as this, we will need your strength.”