The Disfavored Hero

by Jessica Amanda Salmonson

  He leaned forward in his large seat, clutching the arms of the throne as though he were so weak he might fall, and continued, “Like all samurai, you believe the Mikados have reigned since Naipon’s beginnings strictly because they are divine children of your sun-goddess. But it is this unshakable loyalty among the samurai class that holds the power above you. In the three kingdoms which make up Ho, dynasties come and go, some lasting longer than others—while in Naipon, the same family rules on and on. Whether strong leaders, or decadent figureheads; with a tyrant’s fist, or a gentle opened hand—the Mikados endure. Because of you. One day, I will rule over the nations of Ho. And to insure an everlasting dynasty, I would introduce the virtues of the samurai to the Celestial Kingdoms.”

  Ushii sat on his knees, staring at his hands in his lap. His faith did not allow room for the considerations of Lord Huan, Tomoe knew. Except for her presently discompassionate state, she might be as deaf as Ushii. For Ushii, the concept of samurai at once honorable and immoral was not to be assimilated. The notion that the power of the Mikado heralded elsewhere than from the Shinto pantheon was supreme blasphemy. Ushii knew he served a wicked master, however; and a servant need not comprehend any master’s reasoning, and especially not Lord Huan’s.

  Tomoe, however, was affected, though in no way did it show.

  Lord Huan leaned back, resting as though speech wearied him; but in a moment he gathered strength to continue: “I am fascinated that you could bear me such malice and yet serve with implicit loyalty. You call it, I believe, giri: fealty and duty to your master. It takes precedence above your own family. Without it, you have no honor. Without honor, the virtues of justice and benevolence mean nothing. I understand your kind, Ushii, or begin to. You grovel to me now, but you are no coward. I might be helpless as a babe against your sword, but it will never turn against me, because I have your word. Only through a master can the seven virtues of the samurai be meaningfully fulfilled. Only I may judge if you are polite, courageous, benevolent, veracious, just, loyal and honorable. Is this not so, samurai?”

  Ushii nodded faintly, looked up, and whispered, “You do not consider my ninjo, Lord Huan. Through it, I may judge for myself what is benevolent and just, aside from my master’s command. The ninjo is my conscience. If it tells me that through you I am without honor, then I must die.”

  The sorcerer clapped his hands joyously. “Ah, Ushii, you do not understand the wisdom of your nation’s founders! Even dishonored, you must be loyal to your master. You would slay yourself to be free of me, whereas in the Celestial Kingdoms, an emperor despised must be ever on guard against treachery. Oh, glorious were the days when ancient rulers taught the Way of the Warrior to samurai! By emulation, I will rise to glory in the Seat of Heaven, the Throne of the Celestial Kingdoms whose splendor dwarfs my own small seat! Never will my dynasty fall!”

  The sorcerer gazed at the ceiling, reverent of himself, whose idealized life was depicted in the relief above their heads. When he looked at Ushii again, he said,

  “Who do you serve, samurai?”

  Ushii stood and touched the hilt of his sword, saying, “I am pledged to the defense of Lord Huan!” Strength and pride crept back into his tone. If all the cosmos came undone, still would Ushii Yakushiji feel complete, for he had bushido to keep him whole. Or so he believed. Tomoe, though unable or unwilling to act, was yet able to reason. She knew that to survive, Ushii must sever his giri from his ninjo, maintaining honor with the first and despising himself with the second. This separation of self meant insanity, and unless it were resolved, Ushii would go mad.

  The knowledge should have moved Tomoe deeply, but she felt nothing beyond simple comprehension.

  The sorcerer was cackling loudly, then stopped short. “Tomoe!” he called. “Come stand to my right. Ushii, to my left.” Ushii took up his station, squaring his shoulders and affecting his old self. Tomoe moved like a juggernaut to the right hand side of the exiled Huan. He said, “Yesterday, I spent vast stores of magic bringing forth the storm, manipulating a peasant population, and opening the door for Ushii Yakushiji to aid Tomoe Gozen. These demonstrations have left me weak. But I need not fear, for I have two fine yojimbo: samurai bodyguards. Shigeno was allowed the illusion of victory, yet he is ruined—for without peasants to till the fields and bring him tribute, he is lord of nothing.

  “Soon, I must sleep to regain my powers. Before I awaken, Ushii, you will execute the dragonmasters for their cowardice in the battle. They alone survived yesterday’s battle, because they ran away; and I shall replace them with a more effective army. Tomoe, you will carry me to my bedchamber, for I am presently too drained to walk. You will stand over me and see no danger befalls. I will sleep three days. On the fourth, I will return to my throne to accept tribute from all the warlords. They do not know my sorcery is for the moment spent, so they prepare even now to honor me lest the example of Shojiro Shigeno be made of them as well.”

  He looked at Tomoe and then at Ushii, and it seemed the evil man had a kind of awe for both of them. He finished, “I trust you both implicitly.”

  Then he laughed louder than Tomoe had heard before. It was the mirth of malice which cannot be defeated.

  That night, Tomoe stood over the silk-upholstered couch of the dark sorcerer of Ho. Since she placed him amidst the covers, he had not moved. He lay curled fetally, a child as old as time; and evil was, after all, ancient, yet never wholly matured.

  Tomoe’s black eyes glistened in the faint light of a single, failing candle. Ushii lay on a bamboo mat on the floor. He watched his captivated friend and the sleeping Lord Huan, with a wild expression framed by the self-inflicted scratches on his face. He asked, “Why do you never sleep, Tomoe?”

  She could not reply.

  Ushii shuddered. “How terribly you have changed!”

  Huan, in his revitalizing trance, would have been easy prey but for his intent guardian. Even were Ushii mad enough to attack his own master, Tomoe would stop him with the least necessary effort. She was not sure why she would bother, for the sorcerer merited none of her consideration. Perhaps she would stop Ushii so he could not dishonor himself, although that did not register with much importance either. Nor was she certain why she felt no inclination to kill Lord Huan herself, except that she no longer served Shojiro Shigeno and bore Shigeno’s adversary no personal grudge. She hovered above the frail sorcerer without movement, barely with thought. Not even her moist eyes blinked.

  Ushii said to her, “By the danger brought to the heimin and by keeping an army, Lord Huan has broken his treaty with the Mikado. It may be that the warlords prepare tribute as we are told, but if this is so, it is only for the moment—only until reinforcements can march from Kamakura or Kyoto. There will be many samurai, and perhaps jono priests and priestesses to fight the magic. It will be a remarkable war, Tomoe.”

  A remarkable war seemed unlikely to Tomoe, for she had slain Lord Huan’s soldiers herself, and Ushii would soon execute the surviving dragonmasters for their cowardly flight when Tomoe broke through their fire. Or, more likely, they were to be gotten out of the way because they did not fit into the next phase of Lord Huan’s scheme. Whatever Huan’s plan, without an army of comparable force, the inevitable confrontation would be decidedly unremarkable. Yet the sorcerer rested easy on his rich couch. Who was to say what miracle he could perform on regaining the fullness of his power.

  “When war comes,” said Ushii, “I, for sake of honor, must serve the enemy; and you will serve him too. I would slay myself and be done with all this, but that my soul would never rise from hell to its next life, knowing I had left you in this state. A glamour is upon you, Tomoe, though you seem not to care; and it is the fault of my unthinking devotion. Goro and Madoka warned me, but I would not hear. Now I must wait until you are free before I can consider the mettle of my own honor.”

  When Ushii slept, Tomoe noted from the bottom of her unwavering vision that the sorcerer was smirking within his cloudy tufts of beard. Even entran
ced, he had listened.

  Through three nights Tomoe stood without motion, taking no nourishment, accepting no drink, without apparent depletion. Ushii came and went as he pleased, handling the affairs of Lord Huan’s palace. Servants obeyed him absolutely, having witnessed his swift method of dispensing with the dragonmasters, and fearing his darkening mood. On each of the three evenings, he returned to his mat like an obedient cur, and gazed earnestly upon the stone-still warrior until too tired to keep awake.

  On the third morning, Huan rose as from a nap, refreshed and in good humor. He was able to walk on his own, albeit in a gawky, spidery fashion.

  Servants hurried with fresh clothing, food, and drink. Huan ordered Ushii away, as one would shoo a dog, while he and Tomoe feasted. Already the messengers of the warlords were arriving with tribute of horses, grain, gold and chests of coins; but the sorcerer had them wait until he could see them at his leisure.

  As they ate, Lord Huan watched Tomoe with an intensity matched only by that of Ushii on the nights previous. Tomoe sensed that Ushii had been reluctant to leave her alone in the presence of the wakened sorcerer. Perhaps he thought Lord Huan was senile enough to forget that Tomoe Gozen was a warrior. Indeed, it could not be denied that the sorcerer’s respect for the samurai class was of an intellectual rather than literal nature. But all Huan did was gaze acutely, watching her as she ate and drank with slow, meticulous purpose. It was as though she were the prize of a conquest, his favorite province, an object like a jade temple or a golden city to possess but never touch. Yet Tomoe could not tell Ushii how little transpired whenever she and Huan were alone. It became evident that Ushii was disturbed by grave imaginings about these meetings. This aggravation made Ushii edgy, and his edge made him dangerous.

  One warlord made tribute of fifty Shirakian slaves, prizes from a mainland war on the upper coast. A much frustrated Ushii mistreated them badly, until Huan ordered them out from under foot. He gave them the seemingly pointless task of gathering stones around the estate; and Tomoe wondered abstractly what the stones were for. Surely the iniquitous Lord Huan did not send them on a foolish errand out of mere concern over their welfare or the manner of Ushii’s management.

  Ushii Yakushiji became a wicked man, his unjust deeds overwhelming his conscience. He hid his self-loathing beneath the blood of others. Those who came with tributes often as not left with scars. His quick temper cost the lives of half Lord Huan’s own servants, and those who were spared sudden deaths consistently effaced themselves when Ushii walked the halls.

  Within him, Ushii’s giri and ninjo were locked in the throes of mortal combat, and Tomoe knew at last that Ushii Yakushiji was truly mad.

  Even the realization of Ushii’s madness awakened no pity in Tomoe Gozen. She watched all these things come to pass from her dispassionate posture, ever at Lord Huan’s side, for he liked to keep her near. She felt that all was less real than an excessively stylized Noh play. She viewed the world through glazed, black eyes, and nothing quite touched her.

  The prospect of war was all that piqued Tomoe’s bored, unfeeling spirit. She knew that war must be imminent. Ushii had slain two messengers of the Shogun himself, and the result was that several warclans were rallying. The Mikado might remain heedless of broken treaties, but the Shogun was too proud. The very worms and crickets were Lord Huan’s spies and he delighted at the news, welcoming the certainty of battle.

  Tomoe wondered casually why the sorcerer had not sent to the mainland for his own reinforcements, unless his allies there were already expended. He had many servants, but only two warriors. Surely he did not believe that Tomoe and Ushii alone could win against the combined wrath of those clans most faithful to the Shogun. Lord Huan’s delusion did not worry Tomoe, however. A samurai’s concern was never with death, but with valor. She would fight with courage and skill. Every movement of a samurai reflected the perfection of the very gods. Whether victorious or defeated, the Way of the Warrior was the Way of the Gods, and an end in itself. Tomoe Gozen was prepared for battle, careless of risk. Whether or not it were true, as Ushii claimed, that she was held by magic, in this thing she would always feel the same: war itself was holy.

  For many days, the mystery of Lord Huan’s court was that he kept the Shirakians busy gathering stones from every corner of the valley. Outside the palace, the rocks were piled higher and higher, making a loose, rough pyramid. Daily, Huan investigated the growing pile, and laughed, and danced like a clumsily animated skeleton before the stones. Then he’d return to his throne, once more to toss incense in his brass pot and accept tribute from all the warlords but Shigeno, who had nothing left to give.

  The day came when the warlords brought no more tribute, no more wealth for the coffers of a sorcerer who dreamt smoky dreams of conquest. Instead, the warlords sent a declaration of war. Ushii beheaded the offensive messenger with one swipe of his sword, and took the scroll from the hand of the falling corpse. Lord Huan clapped and giggled and bounced in his throne. Ushii gritted his teeth in madness, handing the scroll to Huan. Tomoe stood at the right of the throne, no change upon her visage.

  Lord Huan read the scroll, nodding and grinning, then rolled it tight and handed it to a furtive servant to take away and burn. “The attack will come at dawn,” he said, long-nailed fingers toying with his wispy white beard. His mien was that of an emperor well pleased with himself, as certain as any peasant that those who rule are gods.

  “Before me, Ushii!” he commanded quickly, as he dug deeply into his clothing like a miser searching for a hidden coin. Ushii fell onto his knees beside the large brazier, eyes down, awaiting his master’s words. “O, obedient samurai, at dawn your might is tested. Although you do not yet know how, the odds will mark your favor. Yet once before I came this near, but was overcome and cast off the yellow earth of Ho. This time, I cannot fail. Take this vial.”

  Ushii stood and took the orange, crystalline container. Its cork was sealed over with brown wax. Through its translucent walls, an effervescing liquid churned.

  “It holds your last resort, Ushii Yakushiji. I do not believe that it will be necessary that you drink it—but if the battle turns against you, this vial contains a formula which will give you strength far greater than that which possessed Tomoe Gozen when lightning struck her swords. It is fatal. But as I have learned, a samurai who is faithful to the bushido is ever prepared to die for a master.”

  Without comment regarding his own fate, Ushii tucked the vial inside his armor.

  “And Tomoe?” Ushii asked with the faintest tone of calculation.

  “She is indestructible,” said Huan. “She could not be sacrificed even were that my wish.”

  Ushii bowed, pleased.

  Then Huan rose from his throne, a tall, swift stick figure moving across thick carpets. He ordered the two samurai to follow him to the pile of stones outside the palace. There he bid Ushii slay the gathered Shirakians, which was a better reward than they might have guessed.

  When the dead lay all around, Lord Huan indicated the rock pile with a flourish of his bony arm, proclaiming, “This is my armory!”

  Ushii looked puzzled. “You would defend against the combined force of the warclans with stones, Lord Huan? If so, who will throw them? You have raised no army. How can we hope to stand?”

  “You shall see!” the sorcerer said. He produced a glass ball from his sleeve as might a common street magician, tossing it up and down to imply its lack of weight. Tomoe and Ushii could see that it was hollow, fragile, and filled with vapor. Lord Huan tossed this object atop the pile of stones where it shattered, covering the mound with violet smoke.

  Immediately, with ear-chilling grating noises, the rocks began to change into swords and flails and hammers and axes and knives and staves and hatchets. They were not the works of artisans, but were crude and ugly. They seemed to have been fashioned by and for deformed hands. The two samurai were soon gazing not upon rocks, but upon an array of tools for destruction which were caricatures of true weapon
s.

  “An impressive trick,” said Ushii, and was serious, “but such rough-hewn weapons have not been used since the Age of Stone. Yet I will assume the stone arms will indeed hold against steel, because a supreme sorcerer fashioned them. Even so, what army will bear these arms?”

  Lord Huan performed his scrawny, apish dance, beside himself with excitement. He looked up at the fighting-man, and said, “You have seen my legions before, Ushii! On the mountain road out of hell! Imagine the terror of the clans! Imagine the horror of the Mikado himself when demons descend upon his city! A once-immortal dynasty will fall at last, and I will drain the wealth of Naipon and make the Celestial Kingdoms kneel to my worthiness! Laugh, Ushii, laugh!”

  Obediently, Ushii joined Lord Huan’s laughter, but the tone rang false and flat. Even in his madness, Ushii could not dredge up pleasure in leading an army of ghouls. He had stood at the threshold of hell, and it had helped break him to Lord Huan’s will. Now he would take as comrades the horrors he had seen.

  As for Tomoe, she neither feared nor respected the monsters she had slain before with ease. She did not tremble when the mountain of stone weapons began to quake and the hand of the first monster reached out from a cairn, bearing an ugly blade. It crawled out from the rocks, and another appeared behind, clutching an axe. They would come, one by one, throughout the night, until the last weapon was taken up; and on the dawn Tomoe Gozen and Ushii Yakushiji would lead them all into battle.

  She stood by Ushii and the sorcerer, whose laughter filled her brain. The muscles of her jaw twitched as they often did, and perhaps there was a greater glisten in her dark, dark eyes. Ushii peered in abject dread at the slobbering oozing beasts that crawled forth to feed on the slain Shirakian slaves. But Tomoe Gozen appeared as unconcerned and as discompassionate as on the day of her similar ascent from hell.