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By Rusty Priske, Nancy Sauer, and Brian Yoon
Edited by Fred Wan
Asako Misako moved across the floor as if gliding. It was a posture that many female courtiers tried to emulate but Misako treated it like an artform. As she moved past the entrance to the antechamber to the great hall she glanced inside and her glide stopped abruptly. Her mouth hung slightly open for a moment before she collected herself and walked into the room. She furtively looked around at the other observers, as she could barely take her eyes of the object that had demanded her attention.
“Kanta-san.”
Misako’s cousin turned towards her and spoke, “Good morning, Misako-san. It is certainly& something, is it not?”
“It is that. Where did it come from?”
Kanta shook his head. “No one is sure. It was brought in and placed here during the night. There is no indication of the artist and I am told it bears none of the usual hidden markings.”
Misako stared at it and continued to force herself not to gape in awe. “Stylistically it is.” she trailed off.
“Unique?” Kanta offered.
“Yes. That is it exactly.”
“I was talking to some artisans and they informed me that it is truly that. No one has presented a work like this before. All they are certain of is that the artist was likely a.”
Misako interjected. “A Crab.”
* * * * *
The Crab leaned on the wooden post that acted as his makeshift crutch and cursed his fortune. A fallen Crab was better dead than unable to fight, especially now, when the Wall had been breached and his lands were overrun. When Kaiu Kyoka had ordered him to take shelter in this tower, his tone was dismissive. Kyoka was not concerned for his safety, but rather that he was an impediment due to his lack of mobility.
This tower had taken some damage when the Destroyers had punched through the Wall, but it now was an afterthought. It served no strategic purpose, either for the defenders or the attackers, and thus it was ignored.
The thought made the Crab shake his head. This was part of the Carpenter Wall and was the symbol of everything that the Crab clan stood for. It was the strong line of defense against the evil that lay beyond.
Now it was nothing. It was a relic of a time before the Destroyers.
That time seemed so long ago, now.
The Crab hobbled over to the doorway, the post straining under his bulk. He looked across the rough ground at a large block that had once served in the defense of Rokugan. Once a piece of the Wall itself, now it was just a reminder of the unstoppable force that proved the lie of the immovable object.
He looked at the block and saw their history and their struggle.
* * * * *
Togashi Sho tried to maintain his demeanor. He preferred to be seen as hard when surrounded by members of different clans, as the pretense served him well. It was not usually difficult, for he did not care for their company. His disdain for them always bubbled beneath the surface and it was easy for him to convert that to reserved hostility when needed.
But there was something in this statue that moved him. He had a difficult time pinpointing exactly what it was, for he was no art aficionado, but it was there nonetheless.
How could one piece of stone say so much? He saw despair and anger. He saw joy and sorrow and even love. How was this possible?
Sho knew that he would be unable to shake the image of the piece, even when he turned away. After a lifetime searching for understanding, he felt as far away from his goal as ever.
* * * * *
It had been very difficult to move the block into the tower, especially with his severe wound, but he was a Crab and perseverance, or even simple stubbornness, was his hallmark. It took days and a complex system of rolling timber and pulleys. It would have been too large to bring inside, but the damage done on the earlier attack had provided him the entrance he needed.
Once inside, he did nothing to the block for days more. He did not study the stone as much as watch it, as if it were going to reveal something to him of its own accord. Much later there would be stories about him speaking to the stone, but these were just fanciful imaginings of Crane poets and other dreamers. He never spoke to the stone.
But he did listen to it.
* * * * *
Ikoma Igawa tried to watch the others who had gathered around the statue. He had come here with no interest in the object, but with the murmurs throughout the court he knew two things: that being ignorant regarding something others wished to discuss was a political mistake, and that this would be an opportunity to see others become unguarded.
That is, if the stories were true. He had heard of seasoned courtiers forgetting their assignments when confronted by the piece. That was not Igawa, though. He carried the essence of Ikoma himself and would not be distracted by piece of stone, no matter what level of artistic talent was poured into it.
Igawa appreciated the arts. He enjoyed a good play and had a few well-chosen drawings in his chambers. It did not serve to be thought uncultured. But this&
Igawa was not sure if he was seeing the intent of the artist or the intent of the stone itself. Was he seeing the same images that others were seeing? Did they see only what lay in the surface or what called from beneath?
Had this been left for everyone, or just him?
* * * * *
The Destroyers moved with precision. There were no wasted movements but when the samurai facing them tried to find patterns in the movements in order to predict their actions, those patterns would suddenly change, as if they knew what the bushi were trying to accomplish.
The only thing that stayed consistent was the death.
The Crab bushi knew what was at stake and they fought as if it were the end of the world.
For many of them, it was.
Every man and woman was spattered in blood and gore. When they were lucky, it was someone else’s. When they were very lucky, it came from their enemies. It was starting to seem like there was not enough luck to go around.
He watched as a man he had grown up with, that he had gone through gempukku with, reached for his dropped tetsubo, only to discover that his arm had fallen with it.
He watched as a woman he had considered as a potential wife was torn literally to pieces.
He felt rough hands grab him by the arms and pull him back, away from the enemy. His first instinct was to fight but he found he had no strength left within him. He didn’t remember the blow that laid him low, nor did he remember falling.
He awoke, bathed in sweat and shaking. He looked at the pool of blood collecting beneath him and the faces of his friends and fellow warriors around him, before he was able to shake his head clear and these images faded& but didn’t disappear.
He looked across the room and the stone that waited for him.
He painfully pulled himself back to his feet.
* * * * *
Trading art was an interesting challenge and Yoritomo Tatsuhiko enjoyed it. It gave him some satisfaction because normally there were ideas about what the value of an item was. The ignorant would think that if a pair of boots was to cost a certain amount during a certain summer that they should cost the same amount the following winter. They cared nothing about the weather patterns, or transportation difficulties or material costs.
They knew nothing about how to set prices. They only saw need and greed.
When you dealt with art, there was no such pretense. As each piece was unique, prices were set without regard to prior transactions. The price was completely based on what the buyer was willing to pay and what the seller was willing to accept.
It was economics in its purest form.
In fact, Tatsuhiko usually thought the people making the purchase were helping create a completely different form of art, and they were oblivious to it.
So it was with interest when he heard about the mysterious statuary that had appeared in court. Such talk could only drive the speculative nature of cost upward. Now, he knew that he would not be given the chance to sell the item if no artisan could be procured, but he was certain that if none were forthcoming, that he could find somebody suitable.
Then he saw the piece.
For the first time since he was a child, he looked at art without wondering what he could get for it. Instead he wondered how the artist could make him see the sky above the piece, even though it wasn’t depicted. He wondered about the ground around the statue& no the floor of the hall, but the ground where it sat while being carved, or even before that.
He wondered if it was carved at all, or just handed down from the celestial heavens as a gift to their Empress.
But he knew that wasn’t true. If it had been heaven-made it would be perfect and would not include the spider-webbed cracks that appeared along one edge.
A flaw that added to the art, rather than detracted. A flaw that WAS art.
* * * * *
The Crab limped around the block. His crutch was becoming more of a hindrance than an aid so it remained leaning against a wall.
He grumbled as he moved. He had been working on the block for weeks and it seemed that it had stopped speaking to him.
That was not accurate the block was still showing him what was inside, but he had been unable to bring it out. He had been tasked by the stone to reveal what it wanted to tell the world and if he were unable to do that, the failure would be his. It would be a failure that he could not endure.
There had been enough failure. He could not abide more.
He lowered himself to the floor where he slept and watched the stone, looking for clues.
He listened to the stone, asking for clues.
He pleaded with the stone, but the clues were not forthcoming.
He slammed his fist into the ground in frustration. He jerked himself to his feet and hobbled over to where his armor and weapon remained since he had started his labor. He pushed past the armor that still bore a jagged tear near the right leg. He let it fall to the floor and grasped his tetsubo, leaning on it like a cane as he walked back to the stone block.
Without pausing for a moment he hoisted the weapon and swung it, full force, at the block, with a yell of pain, anger and despair.
Rock tore from its home and showered around him. Pieces of his carefully carved outline fell away, leaving behind a rougher shape, and a webbing of cracks at the impact site.
He dropped his tetsubo and watched the block some more.
* * * * *
Shosuro Mizuno laughed a little when she heard of the fuss over the new statue. Such sentimentality was for the weak-minded. This didn’t bother Mizuno at all because the weak-minded just made her job easier.
Then she saw it.
She did not forget why she had come but there were new concerns laid over top of them. Why was this section left so rough? Was it unfinished? Did the artists wish to make a statement about the open-ended nature of art? Was there something else that lay hidden?
Wasn’t there always?
* * * * *
The Crab looked at the stone and what he had wrought thus far. He walked around it, surveying it. There was still more to be done, but he had come so far.
He squatted near the base and looked deeply into the stone, looking for that final message hidden within.
Then he was distracted. He stood up and then squatted once again. He ran his hand down to his leg where there had once been deep pain. He pulled his clothing aside and looked at the scar, once a horrible sight, now only a mark a reminder of what had once been there.
He stood again and put his weight onto the leg first gingerly and then with more vigor.
The pain was gone.
His time spent with this stone block had also given his wound the opportunity to heal. He was whole once again.
He went to where he armor lay, unworn since he began his great task. He pulled it on and secured the straps. Once that was completed he picked up his tetsubo from where he had dropped it, the night he struck the great block with it.
Then he walked out of the tower, never looking back at what had filled his days and nights these past months,
If he ever thought of it again is unknown, but what is clear is that he never laid living eyes on it again.
When he died, fighting along side his Crab brethren against those that would overrun Rokugan, his last thoughts were not of a statue left in a broken tower, or of a Wall that once defined his people.
His last thoughts were his own, and his own they will stay.
* * * * *
Doji Yoritoko, once known as Kitsuki Yoritoko, sat cross-legged in front of the piece that those in the court had started calling Kani no Nageki the Crab’s Lament in absence of any other name for it.
She sat for hours, just watching it.
When her husband came to take her away she made no effort to hide the tears that soaked her face.
* * * * * * * * * *
Matsu Fumiyo balanced herself on the saddle of her horse and briefly scanned the contents of the scroll. She frowned and looked up at the messenger riding beside her, who seemed to wait patiently for the response. “Are you sure?” she finally asked.
The messenger nodded. “The Ikoma daimyo personally requests your presence near the border. The legions will have to wait until your meeting is complete.”
“I see,” Fumiyo answered. She glanced at the commanders of the ten legions as they politely waited, attentively, for her orders. She had never quite become accustomed to the situation. These military leaders were clearly above her status, yet her position among Moto Jin-Sahn’s personal retinue afforded her consideration beyond her rank. These men and women were warriors Fumiyo deeply respected, yet they bowed to her and listened to her words.
“Tell Hagio-sama that I will meet him as soon as I am able,” Fumiyo said. “I must make sure that our forces find a suitable place to rest before I can relieve myself of my duties. We’ve engaged several outbreaks in our journey south. I want to make sure the men are safe before anything else.”
The messenger smiled and bowed. “No need for that,” he responded. “Hagio-sama understands your need to press forward. He told me that he would leave the castle an hour after my departure. He will be here shortly.”
“Wonderful,” Fumiyo said with a smile painted on her face. Her heart sank. A meeting with a family daimyo without even any time to prepare, she thought. Her position with the Shogun never ceased bringing new complications.
* * * * *
Ikoma Hagio’s distant form sped across the plains at an impressive rate alone. Fumiyo smiled. Her months among the Unicorn had given her an appreciation for the magnificence of horses, and she certainly appreciated Hagio’s mount. It was a Unicorn steed not the thunderous approach of the Utaku steed, but quality stock nonetheless. Hagio had given it free rein, and the charger seemed to be enjoying his gallop across the land. Fumiyo bowed deeply as the Ikoma daimyo drew closer, and the young man raised a hand in acknowledgement. He brought the horse to a quick stop in front of her with a calm hand on the warhorse’s neck. He dismounted in one smooth gesture and landed lightly on his feet. He smiled.
“Fumiyo-san! Just the samurai I wished to see. How does it feel, being back in Lion lands?”
Fumiyo looked around at the commanders gathered around her. She briefly wondered why the daimyo would single her out before greeting the others, but simply smiled and bowed.
“After so much time spent among uncouth barbarians and uncivilized territory, you must be ecstatic to be back home,” Hagio said.
Fumiyo stood at a loss for words. How could she respond, when she had spent the majority of her time with the Shogun in Unicorn lands? The customs had certainly been difficult to stomach and the cuisine made her miss the utilitarian rations given in the Lion armies. Still, she had become accustomed to living with the Unicorn and they had been gracious hosts. She could not contradict a daimyo, yet nor could she find it in herself to take the easier route and simply agree.
Hagio laughed, amused by the expression on her face. “No need to answer that, Fumiyo. Come, walk with me.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and followed a step behind the young daimyo. They walked in silence away from the others. She followed in silence, unsure of what to say. Did the daimyo truly intend to insult the nearby Unicorn or goad them into action? She did not know enough to be sure, and she was not sure if she truly wanted to know.
“Tell me, what do you plan to do once the Lion troops arrive at the southern front?” Hagio asked without preamble.
“The reports say that the Unicorn troops currently stationed near the Crab lands will return to the Shogun once we have arrived,” Fumiyo answered. “I planned to travel north with them.”
“Why?” Hagio asked.
Fumiyo’s eyes widened. The Ikoma daimyo’s reputation for bluntness seemed to be well deserved. “Kenji-sama assigned me to a position with the Shogun’s staff,” she answered. “I have no intention of relinquishing that duty once I have finished with this responsibility.”
“Your daimyo ordered you to be the representative of the Lion troops to the Shogun. Once these men reinforce Shigetoshi-sama’s troops, the bulk of those men will no longer be at the Shogun’s command. So I ask you once more, what keeps you by the Shogun’s side?” Hagio asked.
Fumiyo considered her answer carefully before responding. “Hagio-sama, the Shogun’s work is important to the safety of the empire. It is honorable to assist in that endeavor.”
“And you feel,” Hagio said slowly, “that his orders are more important than the demons that are pouring out of the Shadowlands?”
“I feel that my place is where my daimyo instructs it to be and it will remain so until she tells me otherwise,” she answered. She dreaded the effects of her next words, but she could not hold her tongue. “I feel that your distaste of the Unicorn Clan may be coloring your opinions, my lord. Jin-Sahn-sama is the Shogun of the Empire, and his actions will have a great benefit on the state of the Empire.”
Hagio narrowed his eyes and fixed her with a glare. For a long moment, Fumiyo wondered if her hotheaded answer had ruined everything.
Hagio threw back his head and laughed. “I should know better than to expect to browbeat a Matsu! Thank you, Fumiyo-chan. Few people have spoken their mind to me like that in months, and never so clearly.”
Fumiyo resisted the urge to scratch the back of her head. “Thank you, my lord,” she said hesitantly.
“Of course you will return to the Shogun’s troops,” Hagio said, smiling. “I have no doubt that he will achieve great things with your assistance. I shall join the Lion troops headed down to the Crab lands and take control of them once we arrive.”
“You intend to join the war?” Fumiyo asked.
Hagio nodded. “I have arranged to resolve my responsibilities in the Ikoma lands and Shigetoshi-sama has agreed to let me enter the war. Fumiyo-chan, let me know when your duties with the Shogun are resolved. I have need for a fiery warrior, and you would do perfectly.”
Hagio turned back toward the other commanders of the Lion units without waiting for a response. Fumiyo stood in place, overwhelmed by the change in events, and wondered where the future would take her.
* * * * * * * * * *
The straw-bale target still stood at the end of the range but it, like almost everything else, had ceased to exist. The world had been reduced down to the smoothness of the polished wood held in Shune’s left hand and the tension of the string and the arrow gripped in his right. He stood wrapped in a non-moment, unaware of almost everything but his unawareness, and at the correct point of the non-moment he released the arrow.
Slowly the world came filtering back to him and Shune smiled to himself. It was his best session ever, he thought, and he began to gather up his spent arrows and carefully put away his equipment. Upon his retirement he had chosen this monastery because it belonged to a newer sect of the Brotherhood, and so offered the possibility of a quick rise into positions of power. He had only been there a few months when he realized how impossibly wrong-headed that idea was. Clarity and serenity were the true treasures of a monk’s life, not the transient illusions of rank and power.
Still smiling Shune headed off to the monastery’s vegetable garden for his morning duties. A short distance ahead of him he noticed Abbot Noin, and from the look of Noin’s walk he had something troublesome on his mind. The gossip among the older monks was that Noin had been forced into a monastery by his family after killing a man, to save them from further embarrassment. Shune didn’t pay much attention to gossip, but he thought that if it was true it made Noin even more worthy of respect, because the Abbot was clearly the best teacher in the sect.
Shune lengthened his stride and caught up to the man. “Good morning, Brother Abbot,” he said. “You seem to be bearing some weight, may I help in carrying it?”
“Good morning, Brother Shune. It is only a little thing; a courtier has requested that I send some monks to a court he is visiting to demonstrate our archery meditations. I am composing my refusal.”
“Refusal?” Shune said. “Why? Would not this be an opportunity to spread our teachings?”
“The courtier is a member of the Unicorn Clan,” Noin said. Seeing Shune’s blank look, he continued. “Our sect was inspired by the writings of a monk who in his previous life had been a samurai of the Shinjo family. This courtier’s letter reeks of ambition, he is clearly seeking to use us to further his own goals.”
“Brother Abbot, I don’t think think that is sufficient reason to deny his request.”
“You question me?” Noin’s face darkened slightly in anger.
“Since I have come here you have corrected my stance many times,” Shune said, “and I have thanked you for it.”
Noin drew a sharp breath and made a slight gesture with the fingers of his right hand, as if he were holding an arrow. “You are correct, Brother Shune,” he said. “Why do you think we should accept this request?”
“That this could lead to political advantage for the courtier is not relevant to us,” Shune said. “Neither the attainment nor the non-attainment of temporal power has bearing on the Way. But while our goal is to each individually reach enlightenment, it is cold-hearted to completely ignore those who are still bound by illusion. Think what suffering we could do away with if our demonstration caused even one samurai to approach his archery practice with a spirit of correct mindfulness.”
Noin considered this for a moment, head tilted to one side. “You are correct, Brother Shune,” he finally said. “Thank you for your insight! I must go to my work now.”
“And I to mine,” Shune said. He bowed to the abbot and continued to the garden.
