Scenes from the Empire

By Rusty Priske and Shawn Carman

Edited by Fred Wan

It was not until the moment that the Crab warrior crossed the threshold of his home, or rather of the temporary structure that had been made available to him for the duration of the front line being located in the area, that the fatigue of the battle truly fell upon his frame. He sagged visibly, the heavy axe in his hand falling away to the floor with a loud clatter. “I am home,” he said, his voice thick with exhaustion and far softer than it would otherwise have been.

A stirring came from the room that he and his wife jokingly called the kitchen, for it could only be called such by the most generous estimation. Then she appeared, radiant beyond measure, concern etched on her face. “Husband!” she said in alarm. “You are injured!”

“What?” He glanced down almost absently at the battered blue and grey armor he wore, entire sections of which were stained with gore. “Oh. No, this is not mine. Or I don’t think it is.” He could not be certain. In truth, everything ached so badly that he could be suffering from a dozen wounds and would not recognize it. “I apologize, beloved. I should have gone to the temple for purification before I returned. I will go now.”

“No!” she said, her tone brooking no dissent. “I have not seen you for four days. I will not see you leave again the moment you cross the threshold.”

He blinked. “Four days? Has it been so long?” He frowned. “The battle everything blends together so seamlessly”

“Four days,” she affirmed. “Stay.”

“It will only take a moment,” he insisted. “I should be purified before I stain our home, temporary though it may be.”

“I will perform the rite,” she said flatly. “Now come in and sit. I will assist you in removing your armor. It will need to be cleaned before you go back, at the very least. Repair would be good as well, I think.”

He stared at her. “You will perform the rite?” he repeated. “My love, are you sure? I know that you have not since”

“Shh,” she said, placing a finger on his lips. “Let me do this for you, darling.”

Exhausted almost beyond words, he simply smiled and nodded. He struggled to remove the plates of his armor, which she assisted with, placing them upon the rack in the structure’s main chamber with delicate care. As the armor was removed, it was revealed that he did indeed have a wound on his right upper arm, one that had stained the cloth there a dark brown, indicating it was not at all fresh blood. “I will one day be wounded and bleed to death before I realize I’ve been hurt,” he muttered under his breath. “There are worse ways to perish in war, I suppose.”

“Shush, darling,” she said. “I will retrieve the scrolls.”

He watched her go, his head spinning. Was it the fatigue of battle, he wondered, or the inexplicable infatuation he felt every time he looked upon his wife. They had been married less than a year. Under different circumstances, he was unsure that he would ever have been allowed to marry a ronin, but with the war being what it was, marriage and the subsequent birth of children were of considerable priority to many in the clan. Thus, he had been allowed to marry the intoxicating and vibrant woman he had met only a few months earlier. She had confided in him after their marriage that she had once been a Scorpion, something that might have troubled him greatly before he had come to love her. She had been cast out, however, for refusing to use her skill as a shugenja to further one of their myriad of schemes. The act of speaking to the kami was sacred, she claimed, and she would not sully it with simply deception. Since then, she rarely performed the rituals of a shugenja, and that she wished to do so now touched him greatly.

She returned in a few moments with a simple set of well-worn scrolls that she kept in a bag that appeared to have been drug behind a horse the entire length of the Great Carpenter Wall. The prayers she said were simple and brief, but the rhythm of them, combined with her soft voice, made his eyelids almost unbearably heavy. When at last she was done and she had cut away the stained cloth over his shoulder, he mumbled something about getting a bite to eat. His wife smiled and caressed the side of his face, kissing him lightly on the forehead. “You are tired, husband. Sleep now. I will prepare something for you upon your awakening.”

“Stew,” he muttered. “Saw the pot in the kitchen.”

She clucked her tongue. “Just a few tidbits left over from the morning. No, I will prepare something worthy for you, my fine fighting husband.”

Less than a minute later, he was fast asleep in a sprawled mess atop their tatami mat in the adjoining room.

Hida Ruri, once Soshi Ruri, once (and still) Chuda Ruri, slid the screen door closed quietly. She was not particularly concerned about her husband waking, but it was best to be safe. The prayers she had changed as she cleaned his wound had ensured he would sleep for several hours. In truth, he likely would have slept regardless. Still, again, she felt it best to be prudent. And, if she were completely honest with herself, she wished him to be well and truly rested. It would aid him in surviving the battle.

Ruri told herself that her concern was merely for her continued status in the current surroundings. She was no longer masquerading as a ronin, but if her husband perished, she would be doing so again in very short order. She preferred not to dwell on the fact that there was a kernel of genuine fondness for the doltish Crab warrior that grew in her chest each time she spent time with him. He was not the brutish lout that she had imagined. He enjoyed reading, and would sing to her in an amazingly rich voice that had nearly moved her to tears when she first heard it.

But enough of that. She had better things to do than consider such oddities. Ruri returned to the kitchen where the large bowl she had been using contained water of the purest form she could find. Although it would be difficult for any amateur to detect, it also contained a few minute drops of her blood, something that aided her greatly in her daily rituals of divination. She held up a scrap of cloth cut from her husband’s sleeve, one that was completely saturated with blood. The blood would further enhance the ritual. She tried not to think about the stipulation that it should be the blood of a loved one in order to use it in such a manner.

“Dark Lord,” she whispered, her voice strangely hoarse despite it. “I bring news of the Destroyers’ movements”

* * * * * * * * * *

Ikoma Satoru rubbed his arm absent-mindedly. The wound itched, but he was told that was just the sign it was healing. The wound was clean, which was a blessing itself in these times. When fighting the sorts of foes that they were, you could never be sure of such things.

Soon he would be able to fight again, and the annoyance of a simple itch would mean nothing to him.

Satoru looked up at the Great Hall of Records and swore a silent oath, as he had done every day during his convalescence.

Forgetting his bothersome arm, Satoru stepped into the imposing edifice. The guards paid him no heed. They had verified his identity before he was within a hundred feet of the main doors. This was not his first visit to the great hall.

Upon entering, Satoru followed a small ritual that remained unchanged from the first time he had entered. It was not required, but this place held great importance to him, and he was a man who valued ritual.

He spoke the words over in his head, and remembered.

Satoru watched the masons ready another block. The process fascinated the young Lion. He had never given any thought to the construction of the great structures across the land. He knew they had been built by the sweat and labors of his people, but the method had never crossed his mind. It was as if they had always been there.

Ikoma Korin saw the look in his charge’s eyes and said, “The Great Hall of Records will be a wondrous thing when completed, but to say you witnessed its construction will be an even greater thing than that.”

Satoru bowed his head in acknowledgment, then said, “Today it is simply a great undertaking, but one day it will be part of our history.”

Korin nodded. “Indeed it will, and what better place to remember our history than here, where that history will be contained. What greater honor can there be?”

Satoru cocked his head at that. “What do you mean, Korin-sama?”

“Our duty is to maintain a record of all the Lion’s exploits. Not only that they can be remembered, but that they can inspire new generations to greatness. This place will serve not only a practical purpose but a symbolic one as well. It will remind all who see it of our duty and its importance.”

“I do not think that Lion need to be reminded of the importance of history.”

Korin smiled. “Even the most obvious truth can use reinforcement. I also see the structure as part of the legacy of Matsu Yoshino, who ordered its construction.”

Satoru raised an eyebrow. “I was not aware of that. I am aware of the greatness of our former champion, but I had not heard he was a man who leaned towards issues of non-military practicality.”

“There was much people did not know about Yoshino-sama.” Both Satoru and Korin turned quickly at the sound of a third voice. Just as quickly they bowed deeply when they saw who had joined them.

Korin spoke respectfully. “Shigetoshi-sama. My apologies. I was not aware that you were on site. I would have prepared you a proper reception.”

Akodo Shigetoshi motioned for the two Ikoma to rise and then he said, “Such things interfere with your true work here, and I have no wish to do that. I only wanted to see how work was progressing.”

Korin nodded. “Progress is good, Shigetoshi-sama. We are ahead of schedule. The workers are efficient without cutting corners. The Great Hall will be worthy of your leadership.”

The new champion’s mouth twitched, as if he wanted to smile, but held it back. Shigetoshi said, “As long as it is worthy of the Ikoma, it will be worthy of the Lion. There are storm clouds gathering and we need all of our strength at our back. In times such as these, Korin, we will need your family’s knowledge of history more than ever.”

“It shall be yours, now and always, Lord Shigetoshi.”

Before the conversation could continue further, a cry broke the air. The three Lions could see the splintered timber and a second spar bending under the added strain of the great stone slab. As one they ran towards the site.

The stone hung from the scaffolding by thick ropes. The ropes held, but the four wooden timbers were now three. Many men held the great ropes, but it was a battle they were slowly, inexorably, losing. Every inch they lost on the ground increased the pressure on the supports. The strain had reached the breaking point on one timber and a second was close behind.

Shigetoshi threw himself onto the heavy rope, wrapping his strong arms around it and digging his feet into the earth, adding the force of his weight and muscle to the others trying to halt the stone’s fall.

Korin and Satoru ran to where a few workers tried to pull another timber into position. Korin snapped orders as they wrestled with the wood. As the groan of the other timbers threatened to drown out the frantic calls of the workers and the voices of Shigetoshi and Korin drowned out even them, many hands struggled with their respective burdens.

“We do not have enough room! It will not fit!” Korin listened to the cry of the foreman and saw that what he said was true. The new timber was under the block, but at an angle that would never support it, if the weight shifted further.

“Get that support in there!” Korin yelled. “Whatever it takes!”

Satoru glanced over to ensure that the base held and then abandoned his post, scooping up a length of rope as he did so. He scrambled around the straining supports, risking much as he moved past the splintering wood. He used the stones already in place to gain some elevation as he swung the rope around the new timber.

Shigetoshi saw what he was attempting and called out to the men with him on the rope. “We need an inch! Give it your all!”

Satoru braced himself on the stone beneath his feet and threw his weight backwards, leaning everything against the rope wrapped around the new support. For a moment nothing happened. Then, the combination of Shigetoshi’s team finding a little extra space, and Satoru’s efforts, the timber slid along the underside of the block. Its dangerous angle turned into a spar as straight as a Mantis mainmast.

There was an air of relief for a moment.

Then, as if the kami had snipped the line from above, the straining timber snapped, sending a shower of wood across the base of the wall. The block fell, pushing aside the efforts of those who struggled to hold it aloft. Its fall was broken by the remaining timbers, which directed what would have been a catastrophic fall onto the top of the stones already standing – the precise spot where Satoru pulled the final support into place.

Korin and Satoru lay on the ground beneath the falling slab, knowing in a split second that Korin’s efforts, grabbing Satoru’s leg and pulling him from his perch, was a temporary reprieve at best. That had no time to avoid the falling stone that never fell.

The combination of the stone support and the timbers wedged beneath their new companion kept the stone in place. It was precarious, but stable.

Satoru ran his hand along the inside wall of the Great Hall and whispered his thanks to Ikoma Korin. It is as his deceased daimyo had once said to him, all of their ancestors’ exploits were to be remembered, and in remembering comes inspiration.

And in inspiration comes greatness.