L5r - scroll 04 - The Phoenix

by Stephen D. Sullivan

  The smoke made it impossible to see, so she let her ears guide her. The hut contained two small rooms, which the fire had turned into a tiny inferno. Tsukune cursed silently and hoped her garments and hair wouldn't catch fire. It would be stupid to burn to death on this fool's errand. "Tell me where you are!" she called through the smoke. "I want to help!"

  The child didn't reply; he only kept crying.

  Shiba Tsukune groped with her hands in the hot, smoke-filled darkness. Twice she burned her fingers on blazing wooden walls, hidden in the gloom. Finally, her fingers found the hair of a child.

  "It's all right," Tsukune gasped through the smoke. "I'll get you out. Are there any other people in here?"

  "N-no," came the small reply. The child coughed.

  Reaching down Tsukune seized him under the arms. She knew she couldn't find the door again in the smoke. Fortunately, the home's walls weren't very sturdy. Nearby, a small ray of light peeked through. Carrying the child, Tsukune ran as hard as she could toward the light.

  She hit the wall with her shoulder. Something splintered. Pain shot through Tsukune's body, but the wall didn't break. She charged it again. This time it gave way with a resounding crunch. Tsukune and her small package fell headlong into a broad mud puddle. The landing knocked the breath from the samurai-ko and covered her with mud once more.

  Tsukune and the child lay there for a moment, coughing and gasping for breath. Amaterasu protected fools and small children, Tsukune remembered.

  A nearby footfall brought Tsukune to her senses. She pushed up on her knees and saw a dead man walking toward her. Behind him came a dead woman. They were the two people who had lain in the door of the burning hut.

  Tsukune rose. "Stay behind me," she said to the child.

  The tot gasped, "Mama! Papa!"

  "Stay back," Tsukune whispered harshly. "They're not your parents anymore." Despite the warning, the boy tried to push past. The samurai-ko stepped to the left, interposing her body between the child and the undead.

  The creatures shambled forward. Their recent resurrection made them slow and awkward. Seizing the child's hand, Tsukune turned to flee. Her samurai nature rebelled at the thought of running from the fight, but dying at the hands of the undead would help no one.

  Three more undead shambled out of the smoke to block her retreat. These three weren't clumsy zombies, like the child's parents. They were undead samurai, clad in armor and brandishing swords. Their eyes blazed with green hellfire. Boils covered their livid flesh.

  Spotting Tsukune, the creatures howled a hideous war cry and charged.

  Tsukune turned back to the undead parents. They had reached the quagmire and shambled in. The child, crying, clung to the waistband of Tsukune's red silk pants.

  Tsukune jumped to the edge of the mud, dragging the child with her. The boy let go of Tsukune's belt and fell facedown in the mud. Tsukune didn't have time to tend to him. Besides, with his face in the mud, the boy wouldn't see her slaughter his undead parents.

  The samurai-ko's katana flashed and split the undead woman from collar to hip. The pieces fell to the ground but kept twitching.

  The dead man tried to grab Tsukune's arm, but she whirled and elbowed him in the face. His nose broke, and his skull caved in, but still he clawed at her.

  The other undead slogged through the wide puddle. Using her free hand, Tsukune grabbed the dead man's shirt and used a hip-throw to toss him in front of the advancing samurai. The undead father tripped his fellows. All four of them went down, thrashing.

  Tsukune grabbed the boy and pulled him out of the mud. He bawled, tears washing the dirt from his eyes. The drying mud on her clothes slowed Tsukune's movements. She cursed silently and dashed into an alley between two burning huts.

  Between the flaming buildings, an undead horseman reared up. Tsukune saw his blazing green eyes, the rotting flesh on his face, the obscene leer on his mouth. He held a barbed spear in one arm and the reins of his steed in the other. The bottom half of the horse's face was missing, and two white ribs poked through where the animal's black skin had ripped away.

  The child screamed as the horseman charged. The undead rider aimed its spear at the boy's chest. Tsukune stepped between them. She whipped her sword around, trying to ward off the creature's spear—but her blow wasn't strong enough.

  The tip of the spear raked across her breastplate, and caught between the rolls of metal. The impact yanked Tsukune off her feet, and she fell. The spear came loose, and the horseman rode on. Tsukune hit hard and nearly rolled into one of the burning buildings. The child fell to his knees as the undead rider wheeled his steed for another pass.

  "Run, boy," Tsukune called, "run!" But the child didn't listen.

  Blood pounded in Tsukune's ears as she scrambled to her feet. The undead advanced on her, three samurai, the child's father, and the horseman. The heat of the building next to her singed Tsukune's flesh; the monster's cold gaze froze her soul.

  She wheeled and slashed her blade into the burning house. Her gambit worked. The structure, weakened by the blaze, tumbled down between her and the undead. The child's father caught fire. He flailed his dead arms wildly as he burned.

  Tsukune grabbed the child by the collar and ran. Her chest ached from where spear point had struck her armor. Her back throbbed from where she'd landed. Her lungs burned with smoke. The child cried.

  My army is gone by now, Tsukune thought, either perished or fled. No sense calling for them and alerting the enemy to my position. She cursed herself for having gotten into this fix.

  She dodged between burning houses without any clear idea of where she was going. The child staggered along with her, tripping with nearly every step, slowing her down, but Tsukune refused to give him up.

  A burning building toppled in front of them, nearly crushing them both under its heavy timbers. Once it had been the village chief's house. Now it was a flaming rampart, cutting off Tsukune's retreat.

  Tsukune whirled, seeking an alternate way out. All she saw was fire and death, and shadows moving through the smoke. Damn you, Doji Hoturi! she thought. If we meet again I won't pillow with you. I'll kill you.

  Out of the smoke appeared the horseman and his four comrades. The boy's father had been burned beyond recognition— almost beyond semblance of humanity. His burnt flesh cracked and flaked off as he shambled forward.

  Tsukune turned and pulled the child toward the one remaining space between two flaming buildings. The alley was narrow, but if she pushed the child in before her and defended their backs—

  Another undead samurai appeared on the far side of the space, a long pike barring their escape.

  "Nooo essscape for you, Phoeniksssss," hissed the horseman. He lowered his spear to charge.

  "Stay behind me," Tsukune said to the boy. The child cowered behind her back, clutching at the samurai-ko's mud-caked pants. "And don't grab hold of me," Tsukune said sharply, "or you'll get us both killed." The boy let go and stood shaking and bawling.

  Tsukune steeled her jaw as the horseman rode toward them. If she dodged the blow, the child would certainly die. She said a final prayer to her ancestors. Then an idea came to her.

  As the horseman rode in, Tsukune stepped up to meet him, her sword held low. He thrust at her chest. At the last instant, she stepped aside, and the point of the spear lunged between her right arm and her ribs, into empty air.

  Tsukune clamped down on the spear with her arm and grabbed the shaft with her left hand. She thrust herself backward with all her might, planting the spear point into the soft mud. Surprised, the undead horseman was yanked from his saddle and into the air.

  He didn't have time to let go of the spear before Tsukune twisted and threw him into the inferno that had been the chief's house.

  The rider screamed as he caught fire. Tsukune rose and thrust her katana into the undead horse's ribs, just behind its left foreleg. The horse bucked wildly as Tsukune yanked the sword free. The horseman staggered, burning, out of the fire. She wheeled
and decapitated him with two messy chops. The horseman's body slumped heavily to the ground.

  The other undead charged forward. Tsukune silently thanked the Fortunes for the fire that made the boy's father unrecognizable. Her first blow took the burned man's left arm; her second cut him in midabdomen. Before his torso could fall, she separated his head from his body. He, too, returned to death.

  However, slaying the father left Tsukune vulnerable to attacks from the undead samurai. Her armor turned aside one cut to her ribs, but a tetsubo landed a crushing blow on her arm.

  Tsukune winced and nearly cried out. Her hand flinched open, and her katana fell to the mud. The third undead samurai thrust at her, but she turned aside its sword with the metal guard plate on the back of her left arm. She backed into the child and nearly fell down.

  Pushing the boy away, she drew her wakizashi, the smaller of the daisho swords carried by every true samurai.

  Tsukune glanced back at the narrow alley between the two houses. The pikeman still held it, his spear barring their retreat. Either they would die on that spear, or before the weapons of the undead—or under bony hooves of the dead steed. Its wound was not debilitating, and it advanced on her, its eye sockets blazing with toxic green energy. More figures appeared behind them— undead coming to reinforce their comrades.

  Tsukune burned from fire and sweat. Her lungs ached with the effort of breathing. She tried to decide how best to die.

  Something leapt over the flaming ruins of the mayor's house. The figure arced high in the air, twisted, and landed lightly on its feet behind the advancing undead.

  "Ujimitsu!" Tsukune cried.

  The undead whirled, but it was too late. Shiba Ujimitsu, the Phoenix Champion, cut the first one in half before he'd even finished turning. The creature fell to the ground in two pieces. Its legs scrambled, trying to raise its bony hips out of the mud. The flopping torso brandished its rusting katana—but Ujimitsu easily stepped out of reach.

  The second monster parried Ujimitsu's first cut, but he coun-terthrust, shoving his sword up beneath the creature's chin. The point of Ujimitsu's katana came out the top of the undead samurai's skull.

  As Tsukune rushed forward, Ujimitsu yanked hard on his sword, ripping the monster's head from its neck. Its body slumped heavily to the ground.

  Tsukune thrust her wakizashi under the ribs of the final undead samurai—but the blade missed the thing's black heart.

  The creature turned on her, swinging its tetsubo. Tsukune caught its arm with her left hand, preventing the blow from smashing her skull. The two foes struggled, locked in a deadly embrace.

  The undead horse jumped forward and reared, intent on crushing both combatants under its hooves. Before its hooves could descend, Shiba Ujimitsu leapt on the monster's back. Swinging his katana in a wide arc, he lopped the horse's head from its neck. The steed's body tottered, balanced precariously on its hind legs. Then it fell to one side. Ujimitsu leapt lightly to the ground as the horse toppled into the burning ruins of the chief's house.

  The Phoenix Champion turned to Tsukune. She was still wrestling her undead foe. "Stop fooling around, and let's go," Ujimitsu called to her jovially.

  Tsukune didn't see the joke. "The alley's blocked by a pike-man!" she shouted back. "Reinforcements are coming, and we've nowhere to run!"

  "Oh, is that all," he said, a smile playing on his handsome face. He threw his arms wide, and his red and gold kimono billowed like the wings of a bird taking flight. His strong legs propelled him into the sky. He arced over the burning houses, past the alley, and landed behind the pikeman.

  Tsukune snapped her face forward, smashing her forehead into the skull of her foe. The move splashed pieces of slimy skin on her cheeks, and one of the undead samurai's eyes popped out. The creature staggered. She yanked her wakizashi out of its ribs and lopped off the creature's head. Disgusted, she pushed the quivering body off her. It fell backward, flopping into a large mud puddle.

  The drumming in Tsukune's ears receded into a dull roar. Only then did she hear the child screaming. The body that Ujimitsu had cut in half had crawled to where the boy stood. It clawed at the child with talonlike hands.

  Tsukune rushed forward and thrust her wakizashi through the monster's chest, pinning it to the ground. She fetched her katana from where it lay in the mud and chopped off the creature's head.

  Retrieving her wakizashi, Tsukune sheathed both swords, picked up the boy, and ran for the narrow alley. The buildings crumbled as they ran through, raining cinders and ash down on them. The boy's hair caught fire, but Tsukune patted it out with her hands.

  When they exited the alley, they found Ujimitsu standing over the undead pikeman's body. "What took you so long?" he asked, smiling.

  "Ujimitsu," Tsukune said, "I've never been so glad to see anyone in all my life."

  "And you may never be so glad again, if we don't get out of here," he replied.

  "I've lost my bearings," Tsukune said. "Which way?"

  "Follow me," Ujimitsu replied, indicating a path through the inferno. "You'd better give me the child. You look exhausted."

  Tsukune nodded. "Not too tired to run for my life, though," she said. She handed her precious burden over to the Phoenix Champion, and the two of them ran.

  As they darted through the smoke, she said. "I heard you were in Shiba province three days ago. How is it possible that you're here now?"

  Ujimitsu smiled and said, "Reports can be deceiving. I go where I'm needed."

  "I fear," she said, "that you will soon be needed throughout all of Rokugan."

  THE COUNCIL

  Kyuden Isawa, the ancestral home of the Phoenix lords, thrust up out of the white sand like a castle from a child's dream. The fortress' towers overlooked the forests of Mori Isawa to the west, and the great ocean, Umi Amaterasu, to the east. From the topmost windows, on a clear day, one could see even the distant Yama no Kuyami to the south—the mountains that separated the lands of the Phoenix from those of the emperor. Even the lowest windows gave spectacular views. Kyuden Isawa sat on a broad plain of sand, only a bow shot from the water. Earth, sea, and sky merged with the castle, creating a serene whole. If Otosan Uchi, the imperial capital, was like heaven, then surely this place was heaven's gate.

  Within the castle, the Phoenix had spent a millennium perfecting their spellcraft. The keep's low, kanji-covered walls protected the Phoenix's home with the spells of forty generations of shugenja. Those powerful magics

  kept their castle safer than any army could. The enchantments extended deep into the ground, below the building's foundations, and high into the sky. The wide beach and gracefully curving ocean gave the keep's inhabitants command of everything within sight. No one could approach the Isawa fortress unseen. Kyuden Isawa was proof against attack by air, sea, or earth.

  The modest walls and powerful spells safeguarded something more precious to the Isawa than life itself—knowledge. Deep within the bowels of the castle lay the Great Library, repository of all the Phoenix's wisdom. Indisputably, the library held the greatest collection of magical scrolls in all of Rokugan.

  Access to the library was restricted to the most learned Phoenix shugenja. The five Elemental Masters numbered among that elite group. Today did not find the elemental lords gathered deep within the castle's bowels, though. Rather, they assembled in the topmost tower of the ancient keep—in their most sacred council chamber.

  The chamber was, in fact, a large, square, open-air garden measuring twenty-five paces to a side. An engawa, a roofed veranda, surrounded the perimeter of the garden. The engawa was just wide enough for three people to walk comfortably abreast. It was built of tawny wood, and strong beams supported its red-tiled roof. The outer wall of the garden was stone, plastered to exquisite white smoothness. The walkway circling the garden had a short wooden railing that ran around its inside perimeter.

  Within the engawa, the garden lay open to the sky. Only the masters, their invited guests, and the garden's keepers were allowed
into this sacred space. The magics of the Phoenix protected it against invaders.

  At the entrance to the garden stood a wooden pillar on the right and a stone dragon on the left. Atop the pillar sat a single white lacquer bowl filled with ashes. The dragon held a broad white basin with a simple bamboo ladle. Water fountained from the dragon's mouth into the bowl and flowed out into a tiny waterfall. The waterfall cascaded past the dragon's breast and into a pool lined with white rock. Though no stream led from the pool, the water never overflowed.

  A white sand path, Jinsei no Tabiji, the Road of Life's Passage, led between the dragon and the pillar and then circled the garden counterclockwise. Lush, green bamboo, carefully pruned to knee height, separated the path from the wooden veranda.

  Just before doubling back on itself, the path turned toward the center of the garden. There it met an exquisite wooden bridge, arching toward the middle of the space. The bridge passed over a wide circular pond, ringing the garden's inner precinct like a moat. The water of the pond, Mezami no Kawa, I he River of Awakening, ran gently, and without any obvious source, in a never-ending circle. Lotus flowers sat placidly on the water's surface.

  Beyond the water, the bridge passed through the great torii Chishiki no Tobira, the Gate of Knowledge, a wooden arch standing as high as two men. The gate's dark wood was decorated with inlays of ivory, gold, and red jade. The inlays depicted flames and birds chasing each other endlessly over the torii's surface.

  Past the gate lay a circular isle covered in smooth, green grass. Five small wooden sitting platforms dotted the circumference. At the end of the bridge, to each side, stood two wooden pillars. Atop one rested five large black lacquer bowls, marked with the mon of the Phoenix.

  On the other pillar rested a cylindrical iron bell, hanging from a wooden arch. The surface of the ancient bell had been cast with kanji, birds, and flames. At the base of the bell lay a small bamboo hammer.

  Everything within the garden stood ready, waiting for the entrance of the Council of Five. Isawa Tadaka, who had summoned the council, would lead them today. He looked at the masters waiting by the rail.