L5r - scroll 03 - The Crane

by Ree Soesbee

  "The Lion and the Crab have arrived together," Ameiko said. "Although the Lady Matsu sends her regrets, Hida

  Kisada has sent his brother, Tsuru, to honor our house."

  "A clever plan. Tsuru is no friend to the Crane." It was natural for Hoturi to speak of military matters with his wife, though rarely in detail. Her observations were often useful, and it was here that he felt the need for her most important function: absolute trust.

  Not all men trusted their wives. Some arranged marriages were no more than the insertion of a permanent spy into a powerful household. Yet as he spoke, Hoturi looked at the sheen of sunlight on his wife's dark hair and the adoration in her eyes. He was familiar with the tricks of the court, the motions of head and hand to feign belief and trust, but Ameiko needed no such enhancements. She had loved him all her life.

  "Will there be war, my husband?" Ameiko said quietly, unafraid.

  "Perhaps. When Toturi ruled the Lion, I had no such fear. The Doji and the Akodo had an alliance, and my brother fought at Toturi's right hand. When I became champion, I believed the alliance could still hold. I hope Matsu Tsuko will see reason. Her greed and arrogance are boundless, but she must have some common sense. Toturi promised a charter between our clans to resolve the ancient feud. Perhaps she will agree."

  "The promises of Akodo Toturi have died with his honor." Ameiko whispered. A sudden chill froze the words. Hoturi's eyes turned to ice. Sunlight crept a finger's width across the pillow between them before she spoke again. "Toturi..."

  "Do not speak of it," he snapped in bitter command, and Ameiko fell silent. Hoturi considered, plucking a leaf from a flowering branch. "Still, I will watch my words with this Ikoma. I am certain he will speak wilh the courtesy of a Scorpion, but a Lion always has the heart of an overbold fool. It should be simple to tear apart his ruse." Hoturi reached for another leaf, and then paused to brush his fingers against the wilted petal of an otherwise perfect flower.

  It hung from the branch with tenacity, refusing to drop or hang its head.

  "There is one thing more, my husband."

  "And what is that, my lady wife?" he said with a sudden gentleness that surprised her.

  His tone only made it more difficult to continue. Ameiko reached in the folds of her obi and drew forth a letter sealed with the imperial mon. "This arrived for you three days ago. I have not allowed it out of my presence since the moment it came."

  Hoturi's hand froze above the flower as he turned to look at the folded page. The seal was intact. "I see." The mark on the outer page bore the symbol of the empress.

  Kachiko.

  Hoturi took the note with the hand of a soldier, his faint calluses feeling the smooth weave of the rice-paper folds. After a moment, he placed it within the sleeve of his blue kimono. "What did the messenger say when he brought it?"

  Ameiko's face was a parade of shrouded emotions, each stronger than the last. "Only that you would be expected at the palace three days after the festival."

  Hoturi stood, placing his katana back between the cords of his obi.

  Doji Ameiko sat silently. With a quiet movement, her hands folded in her lap. The wife of the Crane Champion did not look up as her husband prepared to take his leave. "It will be dangerous for you to go, my love." For a moment, her facade shifted. A single tear touched her golden-green eyes. Deeper words stood behind those eyes, but they were words she could not say. Ameiko remembered the whispers, the insinuations about Hoturi and Kachiko. Those times had passed long before Ameiko's marriage to Hoturi, but she could always feel his heart. "You must forget the past, Hoturi," she whispered. The pain in her voice could not be covered by her softness. "She is the empress, and she is a Scorpion."

  "There are no more Scorpion, Ameiko-san," Hoturi countered flatly. "The emperor has killed them all."

  " 'You cannot catch the moon in a lake,' Hoturi. You cannot destroy what you cannot find."

  "You quote the words of Shinsei for me, Lady Doji?"

  "If you will not hear my words, perhaps you will listen to his. If you go, she will destroy you. Hoturi-sama, I beg you, find another way."

  Golden-brown eyes haunted his memory. A silken laugh echoed in his thoughts. Kachiko. "No."

  "For more than a decade, and she has not spoken to you. All those years, and now, this? Hoturi-sama, you are the champion of the Crane, the destroyer of her family. She does not..." Unspoken, her words hung between them. Ameiko's face caught a hint of sunlight. Her delicate features spoke of woodlands, and her eyes glowed like a misted glen. "I love you.

  "It is my duty." He met her gaze stoically. Behind his eyes, emotion and remembrance were folded together in the forge of a samurai's heart. "And I will perform my responsibility to the emperor's family. As all Doji must, I remember my obligations to my cousins in the Hantei line ... and their families."

  Hoturi's face did not betray his emotions as he bowed to his wife. Before he turned away, he plucked the wilted flower from the branch and dropped it to the ground. "Do you know why the Crane hate to see imperfection, Ameiko-san?" Watching until she looked up at him, Hoturi continued, "Because it reminds us of the nature of our souls."

  With that, the Crane Champion turned and strode down the garden trail alone.

  His lady picked up the discarded blossom and pressed the wilted petal to her tear-stained cheek.

  toshimoko

  Generations ago, between the palace and the gardens of Kyuden Kakita, cherry trees had been planted. Flowering branches shaded the paths, and wide trunks carried the weight of centuries. Pastures of green grass rolled merrily past a bubbling brook. In the distance, the willow pond glistened in the morning sunlight.

  It was just after dawn, but already the palace was alive with movement and laughter. Mahogany floors gleamed, and busy heimin carried trays laden with food to the apartments of the guests.

  The Crane palace was not designed for siege, but for pleasure. Inside the kyuden's whitewashed walls, gold arches separated the inner courtyards from the circling balconies and paths of the inner keep. Beautiful carvings and elaborate figurines adorned low alcoves and caused many guests to cease their

  speech and simply admire. Warmth spread through the building from fires lit deep beneath the stone foundations. Their heat was carried through the castle by a series of cunning shafts. Even in this cold autumn, flowers had been arranged in every room and hallway. Their sparse beauty reflected the turn of the seasons and the happy peace of the festival.

  The highest chambers of the palace opened onto a great stone balcony overlooking wide forests. Below the balcony, banners swung gently over soft blankets of earth and a dais of wood. The practice ground of the Kakita duelists today would become a tournament ground for those who wished to prove themselves in swordsmanship. The academy of artisans, nestled in the groves to the south of the palace, had been bustling with activity for hours—if it had ever ceased during the night. When the Kakita held a festival, they expected the finest creations of their artisans to entertain their guests. From delicate origami and flower arrangements to plays of Noh beauty that would cause the harshest samurai to weep, the artisans labored to produce perfect offerings for the Festival of the Last Harvest.

  The duelists were the most famous of those artisans, practicing day and night to satisfy their demanding masters. The Kakita believed swordsmanship was an art, and their intricate studies with the katana occupied the thoughts and efforts of a lifetime. Although outwardly they were no more revered within the academy than the dancers, poets, or storytellers, the duelists stood at the heart of the teachings of Kakita, the first swordsman of the empire. They were trained in the grace and beauty of swordsmanship, the courtly airs of the Crane, and the history of the empire. The emperor himself, for more than seventeen generations, had been trained by a swordsman of the Kakita. It was an honor to watch the students of the school perform, and the life's wish of many men to train among them.

  Toshimoko had always liked festivals. This year's added amusement
was the bitterness between the Lion and the

  Crane. Toshimoko saw it as a fine diversion, a chance to teach the Matsu a lesson about the cost of too much pride.

  Yawning hugely, he ran callused fingers through his wet gray hair and sat down atop the tangled covers of his cushioned futon.

  The formal bath had been filled with visitors. Unicorn courtiers had visited the warmth of the bath gratefully, as had gruff and burly Crab guardsmen. One particularly promising Phoenix had broken into line in front of the sen-sei and several others, claiming that his sword was "as keen as Shinsei's wisdom."

  After dropping him for an icy dunk in the river outside (he palace, Toshimoko had thoughtfully informed the arrogant lad that sometimes even wise Shinsei became confused.

  It had been a good morning.

  Placing his swords into his finest obi, Kakita Toshimoko chewed at a bit of cinnamon bark as he braided his long gray hair. It was an affectation, really, but one that the old man could easily get away with. Many men boasted they would cut his braid, but as yet, none had even come close.

  Without thinking, his hand fell to the hilt of his katana as if bidding good morning to an old friend. It was time to join the celebrations. He stepped out of the chambers.

  "Konbanwa, Toshimoko-sama." Nodding her head in ardent respect, a young daughter of the Shinjo simpered the greeting. Her father, a plump man with silvering locks escaping from a poorly dressed topknot, paused to glance at his daughter's greeting and then bowed low.

  "Konbanwa, Master of the Academy," he greeted Toshimoko respectfully.

  "Kon-wa," Toshimoko said informally, not pausing to make small talk. Unicorns were amusing, he thought to himself, catching their whispers as he passed. But only in small amounts. It was a shame there would be no more Scorpions in the empire. Their small treacheries were a delicate form of Kabuki that he would miss. Best not to say that aloud, though. Toshimoko's brow furrowed. Too many politics these days.

  "Concerned about today's matches, Toshimoko-sama? Perhaps you should leave the worried faces to your students and keep a wiser smile on your chin." Laughing, the storyteller stepped up her pace to match his.

  "Who are you, impudent squirrel?" Toshimoko asked gruffly, tugging at a lock of her white hair.

  "Do you not know me, Uncle? It is Doji Shizue. If your eyes are weary, I can have a maidservant guide you to the balconies so that you can hear the fighting." Her impish smile betrayed the teasing words.

  "You are not Shizue-chan. Shizue is a little girl, only this high." He held a hand to his knee and winked at her. "You must be the maidservant."

  "If you keep throwing the Phoenix in the river, we will both become maidservants."

  Toshimoko grunted. "Not my fault. The boy wanted a bath. I gave him one."

  "Tell me, old father, do you still remember the way to the dueling grounds? I seem to have lost my way." Shizue grinned shamelessly.

  "Go past three mountains, and turn left," Toshimoko pointed at a line of burly Dragons, facing away from them and blocking the hallway ahead. "Better yet, let me move the mountains for you." Stepping forward with his best sensei shout, the old man barked at the gathered samurai, "What are you doing!"

  Two of the Dragons jumped to the side, landing in martial stances. Instantly, they had readied themselves for combat, legs wide and hands in fists to block or strike. The third simply lifted an eyebrow and looked back over his shoulder at the man with the young girl at his side.

  Toshimoko stood with an almost bored expression, his hands clasped behind his back.

  "Watching the Lion prepare himself," the third Dragon said peacefully. On his sleeves hung the mon of the Miru-moto family, a very high-ranking name within the Dragon Clan. He still stood in the doorway at the edge of the practice field. Beyond him, the Crane practiced their swordsmanship. He pointed across the field at a knot of retainers dressed in the brown and orange of the Lion.

  "Watching Lions?" Toshimoko scratched his head thoughtfully and reached into his vest for another part of the cinnamon twig. "That could be interesting. We'll join you."

  The jumpy Dragons looked at each other sheepishly and lowered their hands, noting that Toshimoko seemed to be ignoring them.

  "Since you seem better informed than your companions and significantly less eager—" Toshimoko's glance scalded the defensive samurai— "you can tell us about this Lion's technique." He bowed politely to the Dragon. The burly guards stumbled slightly backward, forced by decorum not to touch the sensei or the swords that protruded from his blue obi. "Come, Shizue. I wish to hear the Dragon speak."

  The third Dragon smiled at his compatriots' obvious discomfort as Shizue stepped neatly between them and joined her uncle in his bow. "Honorable Dragon-san, I am known as Doji Shizue, and this is my uncle, Kakita Toshimoko. It is our pleasure to meet guests of our house, and we hope that you have enjoyed the hospitality of our Lord Hoturi." Her voice was smooth and polite, with just the proper touch of deference.

  "Noble Lady, I am well aware of both your name and that of your honored uncle. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Mirumoto Taki, son of Mirumoto Sukune, general of the Mirumoto family of the esteemed Dragon Clan." He bowed in return, his broad shoulders moving beneath a green silk kimono and golden haori vest. Brown eyes smiled from a round face, and twin swords hung at his side.

  "Taki?" Toshimoko smiled genuinely. "I know your father. Good man and should be daimyo. Damn thing, that." When

  Taki did not respond, Toshimoko pointed again at the Lion contingent aiding their lord into his complex armor. "Tell me about that one."

  "The Lion is an Ikoma named Jushin. He is the son of Ikoma Ijode, once Akodo Ijode, and still lord of the Tenkai province. Their lands stretch beneath the Lion palace of Kenson Gakka."

  "A farmer?" Toshimoko snorted.

  "No, he is the third son of that lord and was sent to the Akodo War College when he was young."

  "That explains the torn inon on the armor, then." Shizue said quietly. As the Lion's elaborate shoulder plates were fastened by three samurai retainers, the clear impression of a golden mon appeared. The gold had been scratched away and repainted with care but was still visible on the enamel of the laced plates.

  "Now he and his family serve the Ikoma, since the Akodo were dishonored when the Son of Heaven declared their death. Some say the Scorpion were the lucky ones."

  "Some do not speak of it at all," Shizue warned carefully.

  "Mmm," muttered Toshimoko. "And some men are fools."

  Unsure of the dueling master's intent, the Dragon samurai shifted in his stance. "Perhaps. The Lion certainly aren't. Not this one, at least."

  "He came alone to the Festival of the Last Harvest. What does that speak of his foolishness?" Shizue prompted.

  Taki chuckled. "Less than it says of his courage."

  Toshimoko's grin twinkled in his eyes. "Poor Ikoma Jushin. I'm certain that when he returns home, he'll help the plants grow in the fields of his father's house."

  Taki looked at the cheerful old man with a curious gaze. "You think Tsuko will strip him of status?"

  "Bah," Toshimoko replied. "She'll send his ashes to fertilize the ground!"

  "He has friends in the Imperial Court. Dangerous to send, and more dangerous to lose."

  "One might say, invaluable," whispered Shizue thoughtfully. "We thank you, Mirumoto Taki-san, for your insight and valuable time. My uncle and I are pleased to have spoken with you on this beautiful morning. Perhaps we might meet again, over the days of the festival?"

  "Of course." Taki smiled, bowing politely and gesturing his men aside. "I am at your disposal, gentle sister of my host."

  Shizue smiled, returning his bow. Smoothly, the two Crane stepped from the doorway down the stairs of the palace, and into the grassy pathway that divided Kyuden Kakita from its inner courtyards.

  "You speak too much to the Dragon, Uncle," Shizue said, as if commenting on some small flower by the path.

  "The Dragon are our allies, S
hizue-chan. Taki was trying to help us." Toshimoko said jovially, eagerly walking toward the tournament fields.

  Shizue sighed, shaking her head. "You play too many games, Toshimoko-sama."

  "The same games you courtiers play, squirrel, but with swords and not fans."

  The samurai on the dueling ground before the dais were resplendent in their gleaming armor. Lacquered plates shone purple, blue, gold, and green. The mon of the Six Clans waved on banners that hung from every corner of the field.

  Toshimoko had always liked tournament days. Although he had long ago ceased to compete—it would not have been generous for the Crane to sponsor a tournament and win every prize—he lived the excitement of the bouts through his students, encouraging them to succeed and shouting in disappointment when they were beaten. This year, four of his best had entered the competition, two in the grand ken-jutsu melee, and two more in the single-duel bouts.

  Across the field on the wooden dais stood Doji Hoturi, surrounded by courtiers of all clans. Although the young man's face was stoic, Toshimoko could see the envy in his eyes as he watched the dueling. Hoturi had always done well on the iaijutsu field. Toshimoko sighed and spat out the tasteless cinnamon bark. All the good warriors were forbidden the competition of the ring. That must be why there had been so many wars lately.

  Taking a pair of practice bokken lying by the field, Toshimoko strode toward one of his students and gruffly pelted him with a shomen strike.

  The boy, a Kakita of good breeding but slow wit, fell to the side from the blow. "Hai, Sensei!" he yelled.

  "Ho! Hoturi-sama!" Toshimoko called from the field, bowing and motioning to the student beside him. Hoturi looked toward them with interest, recognizing his old friends voice. "This one needs to work on his ma-ai—his timing."

  "Oh?" Hoturi called. "Tell him to step forward before he steps forward." It was an impossible task. The joke was an old one, and several of the Kakita students on the field smiled.