L5r - scroll 03 - The Crane

by Ree Soesbee

  "Yes," the woman said. She transformed once more into Kuwanan in full battle armor. "You must be more than this, Hoturi. You must pass through. Will you fight beside the Crane? Do you have the courage to undo what you have done?"

  For a moment, the world grew blurry. Hoturi could see Ameiko's face shining beneath the starlight, brightly lit by happiness. "I can." He threw his weight once more against the chains, feeling blood trail down his forearms, as it had a hundred times before.

  Satsume raised the sword, hatred and anger in his eyes. A swift stroke cut through the air toward Hoturi's head. The

  Crane Champion did not flinch or cry out. He only stared into his father's eyes without regret, without remorse. This was how he should have died, long ago, by his father's blade on the shores of Kyuden Doji.

  Teinko floated. Blood surrounded her head, and her black hair cascaded over the sea-torn shore. In smoke and mist, the scene changed, and became Dairu. My first duty.

  The sword approached. Satsume's face was resolute and filled with bitterness. Hoturi watched it come, his stinging eyes open against the bright torchlight.

  A shattering clang, and Hoturi's wrists fell free.

  Hands reached to lift him, placing a cool rag over the worst of his wounds before wrapping him in a soft cloak. The darkness swam around him.

  Hoturi clawed to his feet, determined to stand. A few steps, a few more ... Hands held his shoulders, and he leaned on a soft arm.

  Satsume had gone. The light had been put out. Only the dark stone caverns stretched out around him, like the labyrinth of Kyuden Bayushi.

  Kachiko ... never again.

  Hours seemed to pass in a drug-filled haze. Hoturi fell, but stood again. His eyes watered with shame. His knees were torn and bleeding. It seemed to Hoturi that the figure beside him was half-dream, half-real. She was the only solid thing in a world of shifting images and strange dreams.

  She placed him on a low travois, drawing blankets over his charred flesh and putting a thick bandage around his wounded eyes.

  "Are you a kami?' he asked her in a moment of clarity, but her face turned away.

  "No, Hoturi," the whisper came, "only a woman, with a duty still to complete. Remember me, when you find the Thunder in your soul."

  Then the darkness took him, and Hoturi knew no more.

  oaths

  Hoturi awoke to the sweet smell of incense and the gentle rhythm of prayers. His eyes were thickly crusted, and his body felt as though it had been thrown down the Dragon Mountains. Agony hovered at the edges of his mind, a defeated dragon hungry for revenge. The drug was wearing thin. Soon he would be free of it. Still, its gnawing anger had gashed a permanent wound in his soul.

  "Quiet, now." A hand pressed cool water to his brow.

  "Dear Fortunes," Hoturi croaked with recognition. "Akodo Toturi-san?"

  Chuckled laughter came, and a voice of relief. "It seems you've your wits about you again, my old friend. But have you forgotten the day in which we live? Now, it is only Toturi."

  "Never to me."

  "Gently, Hoturi-sama, your wounds are

  still fresh. If you do not rest, the Asahina will never forgive me.

  "Who?" Hoturi tried to sit up, to move, but the very thought made his mind swim sickly and his stomach churn.

  "Tomo, the old man. He's come here the minute we sent for him. Your old tutor, I believe?"

  "Tomo?" Down from the mountains to cure him. That was a shock, as much as Toturi's voice had been. Though the Asahina were Crane, and loyal, their path was one of quiet contemplation and the craft of magic. They were pacifists, believers in life and fervently opposed to war. Until now, their small family had remained in their quiet southern castle, resolute in their refusal to fight or shed blood. Then again, Hoturi would never have believed he would accompany the Black Ronin, Akodo Toturi—Toturi, he corrected himself. Just Toturi, now.

  "Where ... are we? Kuwanan—does he live? Uji? Kyuden Kakita? Does Kyuden Kakita still stand?"

  "Sleep, Hoturi," said the deep, rich voice of his friend. Darkness began to creep at the edge of his mind once more. "Sleep now, and when you wake, I will answer all your questions. There will be time enough for answers, then."

  "A Lion, worried about a Crane," Hoturi croaked weakly, amused. "The empire will surely fall around our shoulders, old friend."

  "I'm not a Lion anymore, Hoturi. It is allowed." The sonorous voice continued speaking, but Hoturi could not make out the words through the fog of his tortured mind.

  In time, he slept.

  xxxxxxxx

  He stirred. Something cold was pressed to his face, the bandages released. His eyes fluttered wearily beneath a wet rag.

  "Careful, Master," a heimin murmured soothingly. "Your eyes are only just healed enough to see. Can you tell the light?"

  "Hai," Hoturi nodded gently. The swimming in his head diminished to a thin swell.

  Lifting the rag gently, the heimin held a finger before Hoturi's face. "Can you see this?"

  "Your hand. Hai."

  "Good, good!" The heimin turned away. "Lord Tomo, he is awake, and his eyes are well."

  Tomo had been his father's healer at the battle of Otosan Uchi, so long ago . . . but when his father fell, the old shugenja had been unable to assist. Nothing could have saved Satsume, not even the magic of the wise Asahina.

  "That is good news." The crotchety voice came from somewhere else in the tent. Hoturi was lying on a futon that rested upon a packed dirt floor. Asahina Tomo stomped closer. He was a bent man, stooped with the weight of years. A sparkle still lit his pale blue eyes, and his long fingers tugged at his gray beard with quick dexterity. "Can you see me?"

  Though his vision was still blurred, Hoturi could make out the faded blue hakima, and he nodded. "You look well, old father."

  "Bah." Tomo reached in his belt pouch and drew out a small sphere of crystal, pressing it first to Hoturi's forehead and then to his hands and feet. "No more swelling," he said gruffly. "Get Toturi," Tomo said to the heimin. "He wanted to know when our lord awoke." Bowing quickly, the man nearly danced from the tent with glee. "Happy to see you awake, you know," the old man continued, putting away the tiny sphere. "I suppose we all are, around here. Good to know you're ... well. Good to know you're you."

  "What?" Hoturi said, confused.

  "Enough trouble out there, you know. Should have stayed in my little hut on the Asahina compound. Coming out here to take care of you, boy. Don't like being down here, with wars and all the fighting. Can't you get sick closer to home?" The old man's good-natured banter cheered Hoturi, and the lord of the Crane smiled weakly.

  "I'll try, next time. I promise."

  "Hmm. Hold you to that, yup. You see if I don't."

  Within moments, the tent flap opened, and three men entered. One was Toturi, a tremendous man with broad shoulders and a wide smile. Toturi moved with the grace of a bushi, yet spoke with the cultured voice of a courtier. It was strange to see him here—stranger still to see that his once-gold hair had again grown black, the dye faded and almost cut away completely. No more a Lion. Toturi smiled broadly and knelt beside the futon with his swords at his belt.

  Behind him came Kakita Toshimoko, dressed not in the blue and gray of the Crane, but in strange blackened garments, covered with a large cloak of the emperor's green and gold. He looked at Hoturi once, as if to reassure himself that the man on the futon still lived, then quickly looked away.

  Behind him was another man in blackened clothing, also obviously dyed with walnut stain. The man was unfamiliar to him. As he bowed at the tent's flap, he introduced himself to the lord of the Crane.

  "Ichiro Wayu, Hoturi-sama, second-in-command of the Emerald Magistrates."

  "A magistrate?" Hoturi whispered in disbelief.

  "Hai, my lord." Wayu drew a pendant of jade from beneath his darkened gi, the symbol of the Emerald Champion's men clearly carved into the intricate token. "And Toshimoko-sama's first lieutenant. I speak for him," the man glan
ced at the old sensei, "because the Emerald Champion's legions must not be swayed by house or clan."

  Toshimoko nodded. The wrinkles around his eyes deepened with age and care. "It is enough that I am here," he said warily, not looking at Hoturi. "Let Wayu speak for me, so that it cannot be said that I speak as a Crane in this matter."

  Hoturi looked up at his old mentor, suddenly noticing the signs of age that curled at the edges of Toshimoko's lips.

  "Hoturi," Toturi began gently. "There is much to say. You are feeling better?"

  "Yes. In a few days," Hoturi pushed himself up from the cushions slowly, testing his strength, "I should be able to ride."

  "Good. You ... are needed." A troubled look crossed the ronin's face.

  Outside the tent, the guards softly closed the flap, and the brown silk lessened the brightness of the sunlight. "Kyuden Kakita?" Hoturi guessed. "The Crab have moved south?"

  Glancing at Toshimoko, the ronin general answered. "Hai, Hoturi-san. Kyuden Kakita . . . has been taken. Burned by Kisada's armies." Seeing Hoturi blanch, his pale face growing even paler as he accepted the news, Toturi continued. "To the north, as well, the Crane fare poorly."

  "Poorly?"

  "The Lion ... Kyuden Doji was assaulted some time ago."

  "Did they take it? Kuwanan ... ?"

  "The Matsu were commanded to retreat. The emperor's herald arrived," Toturi continued, "with an order from Empress Kachiko."

  "Dear Fortunes, no ..."

  "There is more, and you must hear it." Without preamble, Toturi spoke. "Kyuden Doji was assaulted by a force of Crane under your banner. They were . . . undead. Torn from the ground by dark blood magic, maho, and foul Shadowlands Taint. The madmen attacked Kyuden Doji, and they destroyed the Crane forces there."

  "My banner." Hoturi said bitterly. Understanding tasted like bile on his tongue. The tent was silent as the assembled samurai allowed Hoturi to accept the information. When he spoke again, his voice was like ice cracking beneath a soldier's heel. "You do not believe that I have led them."

  "No, of course not," the old Asahina said grumpily, stirring the fire with a riding crop. "Foolishness."

  "It's not foolishness, Tomo-san," Wayu said cautiously. "There are many who do believe it, Hoturi-sama. Those who believe it curse your name and slander your clan. The Crane are dying."

  "Because I am destroying them."

  "Not you, Hoturi. Something that looks like you." Toturi's dark brown eyes turned sad. "What do you know of this?"

  With halting words, Hoturi told them the story of the Egg of Pan Ku and Kachiko's treachery, leaving nothing of his own failure out of the tale. Bushido demanded that the whole story be told, even the darkest and most dishonorable parts. As Hoturi continued, he grew stronger with anger and pain.

  Toturi's face darkened with thought. The tent in which they sat was quiet save for the faint brush of wind against the silken walls. The low table on which a warm teapot rested shone with care despite the deep scars in the hard wood. By a small covered fire, Asahina Tomo rested his old bones, enjoying the warmth of the flames against the cold winter's afternoon.

  Hoturi spoke until the sun had gone down and the red glow of the fire was the only light left in the tent. When he had finished, the four samurai considered his words quietly. Silence fell like a blanket over Hoturi's shame.

  "Can you prove this?" Toturi said.

  "The only witness is Bayushi Aramoro. But I do not wish to assault the empress on her own field." The champion of the Crane winced, pulling his wounded arm forward to support his weight. "Even if I could succeed, the false Hoturi would have destroyed the Crane long before the charges were issued."

  Across the tent, Hoturi could see disbelief in Wayu's eyes.

  "Do you believe that I have done this to myself? That I would assault the Crane, or that I would lead an army of Shadowlands madmen against my own brother?" Enraged, Hoturi tried to stand, but his legs were too weak to support his weight.

  "If you believe that, Toturi-san," the champion of the Crane looked toward his childhood friend, "then kill me now, and spare me your falsehoods. I will die as a Crane—on my feet;"

  "No, Hoturi," came Toshimoko's weary voice. "Your tale may be true. The Shinjo Champion said as much when I visited their lands. Their councilor, Ide Tadaji, received a missive from our own Kakita Yoshi, speaking of your mysterious disappearance and telling tales of a strange madness that had gripped you when you returned. He too spoke of Bayushi Kachiko's treachery, though he knew of no way to prove it other than to face you on the field of combat."

  Tomo interrupted with a cackling laugh.

  Concerned he had said too much, the old sensei stepped toward the fire.

  Toturi spoke next. "The false Hoturi's men are arrayed through the fields of Kyuden Kakita, burning each village and taking the able-bodied men for his own troops. It is said that even those who refuse to join him eventually become part of his legion. The dead rise and follow his command. He will not reach the Asahina fields soon, but when he does, he will have ten times the forces we can gather. Each day he grows stronger. The Crab have been driven back from Beiden Pass, and we can leave it safely in the hands of Yokatsu's men. My troops could leave within two days."

  "Then you believe me?" Hoturi said quietly.

  "Let us say only that I believe the messenger that brought you," Toturi replied as he looked away.

  Suddenly, the woman's face became clear in Hoturi's memory. His eyes widened with understanding.

  Toturi continued. "The samurai's name was Akiyoshi, once an Akodo under my command." Toturi's eyes asked for his silence. Hoturi nodded once. The name was a false one, meant only to cover the messenger's true identity. Leave us this secret, Toturi's eyes pled of the Crane Champion. Let the world believe her dead.

  Changing the subject before the others noticed Toturi's lingering sadness, Hoturi asked swiftly, "Is my brother alive?"

  "Barely, my lord," Tomo cawed from his fireside cushion. "Alive, and Uji too. Both nearly died, escaping Kyuden Doji. Now they gather what troops survive in the deep Daidoji lands. The armies ride toward the Asahina fields, but my family refuses to help them."

  "There is a time for war, Tomo. The Asahina must realize the error of living a hermit's life."

  "Shinsei once spoke as you," Tomo said thoughtfully. His pale eyes glinted in the firelight, "But he couldn't get them out of that library, either." The old man's grin was nearly toothless, pink gums shining wetly in the firelight.

  Hoturi's face fell, but his stubborn chin refused to lower. "My honor has been destroyed with the lands of the Crane. All the pride and tricks I used to bring my clan to glory have been stripped away by this ... mockery of my life. There is nothing left for me but to fight him. No matter what the Asahina say, they will obey their lord."

  With steel in his voice, Wayu spoke from the rear of the tent. "Perhaps you samurai can believe this man, but I cannot. I must recommend that the Emerald Champion's men remain here, in the pass. I cannot say with honor that the rumors of Hoturi's fall to madness have been disproved."

  Hoturi looked up at the wiry man in black, testing his resolve. "The emperor's legions cannot support their cousins?"

  "I serve the emperor, not the Crane," Wayu replied angrily, stepping forward and deliberately standing over Hoturi. "If the Crane are not strong enough to stand on their own, we will not be their crutch. Let them fall."

  Behind him, Toshimoko did nothing, unable to place himself between his clan and his duty to the emperor.

  Enraged, Hoturi pushed himself to his knees, reaching for his swords. "Say that when I am on my feet, magistrate, and we shall see who will fall."

  "Do what you will, Hoturi-sama, but I speak the words of an empire that believes you have gone mad." Wayu's expressive face was immobile. "The Shadowlands have made another Hoturi, you say, and he ravages the lands of the Crane. It is an easy excuse for treachery. Worse, what makes us believe that if one such copy can be made, that they have not made
two?" He stared down at Hoturi, his body stiff. "Who is to say that you are truly Hoturi, as well?"

  Hoturi knew he was being manipulated. Part of him hated the magistrate for it. Yet he saw the truth in the man's words. When he spoke again, Hoturi's voice was curt and controlled. "No matter what you say, no matter if I must ride against ten thousand madmen, I will fulfill my duty to the Crane." A wave of fear and regret washed over Hoturi. Shame showed plainly in his clear blue-gray eyes. "My duty as champion demands that I protect them, even if 1 must stand on that field alone. There is no other way to save my honor—no other way to reclaim what the false Hoturi has stolen from me."

  "You would go alone?" Wayu asked in disbelief.

  "To save the Crane?" Hoturi looked up and reached out his hand unsteadily. "Give me a sword."

  Wayu only stared at the Crane Champion for another long moment before turning away. "We shall see."

  "There is a strength in names, Hoturi-sama," Tomo's voice rose with the crackling fire, ignoring the tense conversation. "This creature, this false Hoturi, has stolen yours. You will not be whole again until it has been reclaimed. And because you are the lord of the Crane, you are the Crane. If you fall, we fall."

  "Then I must not fall." Hoturi said.

  "No, Crane Champion," Toturi said, rising. "We must not fall. For if we do, more than the Crane will be slaughtered. The empire itself is threatened by this rising evil. It is the duty of every samurai to see it destroyed. The question, Hoturi-sama, is how do we get you to the Asahina lands without the false Hoturi becoming aware of your presence? There are still many who would seek to kill you, for his deeds."

  "Don't worry about that, Toturi-san." Hoturi smiled wearily. "I have traveled as a ronin before. It is time to do so again. This time, not to hide my honor, but to give it for my clan."

  From his corner, Tomo nodded thoughtfully, watching the smoke rise from the small cooking fire.

  homecomings

  When one eye is fixed upon your destination, you have only one with which to follow the Way.. . .

  The words were simple, but they held great meaning. Carved on the doors of the Asahina shugenja school, they were meant as a benediction to study and dedication. Yet, to some, they seemed a prayer for the outside world to turn away, leaving the Asahina alone with their contemplation and their false peace.