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By Brian Yoon, Nancy Sauer, and Rusty Priske
Edited by Fred Wan
She walked through the garden at a leisurely pace, taking in the fragrance and the beauty of her surroundings. He watched her from a distance in silence, captivated by the sight. The surrounding vegetation caught her attention and she knelt, gracefully balancing on the tips of her toes. Her toes were encased in immaculate socks of golden thread, and they curved in a perfect arc. She leaned forward until her face was mere inches from the flowers. She stood still for one long moment, drinking in the sight and fragrance. A small but genuine smile crossed her lips.
He could hold back no longer. He briskly stepped forward, his wooden sandals clicking inappropriately loud on the stone steps of the garden. “Saya-chan,” he called out.
Kitsuki Saya rose smoothly and bowed to the approaching man with poise. “Hisoka-sama,” she said quietly. “It is a pleasure to see you once more.”
His surprise was so great that he could not keep his eyes from widening. His years of training quickly kicked in, however, and he maintained a smooth and even tone as he bowed politely to the courtier. “Saya-chan,” he said quietly, “as always, the pleasure is all mine.”
Her eyes twinkled with pleasure. “Rethink your words, Hisoka. After all, I am a married woman now.”
“That does not mean I cannot appreciate beauty when I see it,” he replied, moving his hands with a theatrical flourish. “Speaking of beauty, my dear, I cannot help but notice–”
Saya gestured to her bare face. “It will serve as a very distinct reminder,” she said quietly. “I believe I am not speaking from vanity when I state that I have caused waves in the Imperial Court.”
“As all students of the Bayushi style should,” Hisoka added.
Saya continued as if he had never spoken. “I have made many enemies over the years and many allies as well. All must know that I am a humble servant of the Dragon Clan now, and my primary goal will be to earn the favor of the Imperial Families for my Clan. If they knew the current plight of our people, the Miya would not hesitate to channel Imperial money to bolster the northern front.”
“I understand,” Hisoka said. “Your dedication is admirable. I have heard that you have spent your short time among the Kitsuki quite productively. Your reforms are instrumental in dealing with the refugee problem, or so I hear.”
Saya laughed. “You will always possess a gift for flattery, Hisoka-san. I don’t understand why so many believe you to be a dour man.”
“Not many have eyes as perceptive, as yours, Saya-chan,” Hisoka said.
She continued to laugh and her practiced peals of delight ringing through the tranquil garden. Hisoka felt an inexplicable sense of dissatisfaction rushing through him. He berated himself silently. What cause had he for discontent? She was laughing, her attention was fixed on him, and she seemed to be enjoying herself. Everything was back to normal. Then why, he wondered, did he feel like he was suddenly in the heart of the confusion of Sakkaku?
He stared into her eyes. Her eyes did not betray any false mirth, as they would have in any normal woman, yet Saya was far from a normal woman. She had trained to make sure she would always seem interested in the conversation and make everyone near her fall in love with her (if only for a moment). No normal person could crack the defense of perfect etiquette and charm of a Bayushi courtier – but Hisoka was far from a normal man, himself. He continued small talk, flirtatious innuendos that led further with many women but never with her. He watched her– there, he thought, with a mixture of triumph and disappointment. For one brief moment, he saw the truth behind her smile. She was going through the motions of responding to his provocations, yet she was too calm. Her heart was not racing. She could fake the expression in her eyes, but she could not fake the subtle physical markers Hisoka had learned to decipher.
Saya was truly devoted to her husband.
He reached this conclusion without a word, without ever letting those around him know he was not engaged in the conversation. Those around him, he thought, for the conversation between the Imperial Chancellor and someone of Kitsuki Saya’s fame and stature could not go unnoticed even while court was not in session. His eyes quickly analyzed those around him – sycophant, lickspittle, provocateur, annoyance. There was no one worth his time or attention. He prepared to make his polite departure from the gathering when something about the conversation snapped him out of his daze.
“The Shogun has decided to devote his full attention to the invasion of the south, Saya-san. Do you believe that he is making the appropriate decision here? Do you think that his departure from the north is wise? After all, our lands are still besieged,” asked someone insignificant. This part of the conversation barely interested Hisoka. Still, from the sharp look in Saya’s eyes, and the way she subtly turned the focus of everyone’s attention to the question, he knew that the result of this single question was what Saya wanted to accomplish that day. He could not decide whether he would bolster her claims or demolish them.
“You speak the truth, Kanta-san,” she answered. “Let me speak frankly. I will not speak ill of the Shogun because I know he is an honorable man, who is doing everything he can to destroy the enemies of the empire. I do not intend to cast doubt upon his actions, for we must stand as one empire against those who plague it. I can only fault his advisors, who have been woefully negligent. I would not say that they intentionally prevented the truth from reaching his eyes. I can only wonder how such an injustice can carry on.”
Eien nodded. Hisoka glanced at the Phoenix courtier and wondered why the man would make such an overt assault upon the Shogun’s power. His mind suddenly recalled an odd encounter between Asako Kanta and a prominent Unicorn several months past
“A personal decision of the Shogun,” Kanta said, a look of woe crossing his face. “I applaud the Imperial Legions and their Lion samurai, but one of the advisors assigned to the Shogun is a mere girl! She does not have the knowledge and experience to truly be an asset to Jin-Sahn-sama, yet he keeps her as his liaison. I wonder if the weight of command is proving too heavy for her pretty little shoulders.”
Saya shook her head. “I believe we can fix the problems, even without the eye of the Shogun to guide us. With our combined voices, we can petition the Imperial families to heal the heart of Rokugan! We may not be able to sway their actions, but it will strengthen all if they could see that courtiers of many different Clans could come together under one single goal: the survival of Rokugan.”
Heads slowly nodded as Saya’s words reached her audience – courtiers from nearly every single Clan.
“What would you do, Saya-san, if you had ultimate power in your hands?” a follower asked.
“The greatest dangers facing our lands, my friends, remain the threats of the southern invaders and the burning Army of Fire,” Saya said solemnly. “The capable armies of the Crab, Lion, and the Unicorn face the southern threat, and the Shogun now believes his presence will be necessary for victory. We need not worry about that front any longer. What we must fix, however, is the ongoing threat of the Army of Dark Fire. The Dragon lands remain devastated from the previous war, with many of our fortresses in the painfully early stages of rebuilding. The people of the Dragon need food and supplies. They need the help of the Imperial Families. Most importantly, they need your help.”
“It’s hard to believe that your current Clan requires the most aid, Saya-san,” Ikoma Jifusai said, his hands crossed across his chest. “Some would call your attempts here self serving.”
Saya gestured at Kanta, an almost movement of her left fingertips. It was slight and resembled a natural movement so few would recognize its importance. Hisoka would have missed it himself, were his senses not trained on the beautiful woman. “I fear that your heart is too jaded, Jifusai-san,” Kanta said on cue. “Our gathering here has little power to change anything, yet if we act together perhaps we can alter the flow of Imperial money. I propose that another deserving Clan receives attention first – the Scorpion, perhaps, whose provinces must act as a necessary bridge for our many armies to cross to meet our enemies head on.”
The argument was perfectly timed – Jifusai could hardly disagree and decrease the importance of the Lion armies in the south. Murmurs of agreement rippled around the circle of courtiers. Hisoka looked up and met Saya’s gaze. She smiled. This was the plan, it seemed to say.
Hisoka smiled.
“You serve the Dragon Clan now,” Hisoka murmured.
“Yes,” Saya replied.
“Of course, this does not mean you can’t help others along the way,” he continued.
“Of course,” she said, laughter bubbling at the edge of her voice.
“Saya-chan, you are and always will be a treasure,” Hisoka said.* *
“Please,” Saya said, smiling, “Watch your words. I am a married woman now.”
* * * * *
Doji Midoru stood in the dusty road and studied the temple across the way. It honored the fortunes that the Unicorn sometimes called the Shi-Tien Yen-Wang and everyone else knew as the Lords of Death: minor deities that the Righteous Emperor had permitted to serve as the court of Emma-O. It filled him with the closest thing to dismay he was capable of feeling: the Moto warriors he was traveling with had seen him mowing down undead like a peasant harvesting rice and had immediately proclaimed him to be “the Sword of the Lords”. He sometimes grew weary of his collection of death-related nicknames, and he certainly didn’t want to enhance any connection to these strange gaijin gods. Still-a vow was a vow. He walked to the temple gate, purified himself, and entered.
Inside the temple was reassuringly normal looking. Midoru lit a stick of incense, set it before the altar, and began the familiar litany of his prayers. He had spent a year at the temple at Far North Village, begging the Heavens for guidance. Lady Domotai had recalled him to her service when the plague began spreading through the Empire, but his efforts had not ceased: he had sworn to stop at every temple and shrine he passed and offer prayers. The abomination that was once his father was somewhere, and somewhere there was a fortune who knew where that was.
When he was finished Midoru remained where he was, meditating. The undead provoked him to rage, and he was finding it harder and harder to maintain his normal detachment to the world around him. Here in the silence of the temple he could feel gray calmness flooding his soul. Midoru sank into it, refreshing himself.
When he finally opened his eyes he was surrounded by a thick gray mist. Midoru stared it a moment before realizing he was no longer meditating, and that the temple was gone. He leaped to his feet and cast around, looking for some sign of where he was. Catching a glimpse of his hands he stopped to stare at them in horror: what should have been living flesh was now dry bone. Pushing up one sleeve he saw the bones of his arm, a hand pressed against his trunk found the gap between ribs and hip.
“How can this be?” Midoru whirled about at the sound and saw that he was no longer alone. Ten skeletons, ornately robed and crowned like kings, sat before him on dark thrones. “The Shi-Tein Yen-Wang,” he whispered, recognizing them from the images in the temple.
“It is forbidden for the living to come into this place,” one of them, or all of them, said. “This is where the dead come for judgment: you do not belong here.”
For a moment he was too shocked to speak, and then Doji courtesy came to his rescue. “Your pardon, mighty Fortunes,” Midoru said. He bowed deeply to them. “I do not mean to trespass-I do not know how I came here.”
“You are a living man, but you bear the mark of this realm,” one of them said. Midoru wondered how he knew that only one of them spoke this time. “This is most irregular.”
“It is his nature,” a new voice said. Midoru turned again to behold what seemed to be a very large set of black armor, standing under its own power and holding a black-shafted spear. He recognized the usual form of Emma-O and was about to offer him reverence when the Fortune spoke again, and drove all thoughts from his head. “He is my son.”
“Your son?” Many voices in a blend of shock and accusation. “You had relations with a mortal woman?”
Emma-O tilted his head slightly, as if regarding something beyond where the Shi-Tien Yen-Wan sat. “When you have been in Rokugan ten thousand years,” he said, “you will begin to understand the ties that bind heaven and earth.” He began to slowly walk around the Crane samurai, examining him.
Midoru stood frozen as thoughts spun wildly in his head and then began to drop into place. His skull-shaped birthmark. His certainty that Konetsu was not his real father. His odd temperament. The cursed rain that could not touch him. His father was a fortune. He wasn’t human.
“You are a fine samurai,” Emma-O said. “Obedient to your lord, loyal to your kin, a terror to your enemies.” He stopped in front of Midoru. “You will bring my wrath on the unnatural creatures that walk the Empire.”
Midoru breathed in sharply and threw himself at the Fortune’s feet. “Emma-O. Father. I will be your most willing instrument. Give me your commands, and I will hound your enemies from one end of the Empire to the other. I will forswear all other duties; I will become a ronin if you deem it to be useful to you. I ask only-I beg!-one favor from you. Answer my one prayer, and I will become a blade in your hand.” He pressed his head against the ground so hard he heard bone grind against stone.
“And what is this prayer?” Emma-O asked. “What is so dear to you that you would abandon your liege?”
“My father, Konetsu, was a good man, but when the Rain of Blood came it turned him into a monster. Help me find it so that I may destroy it and end the shame it brings to his name.”
“The Blood-Rain devoured only the weak,” one of the Shi-Tien Yen Wang said. “He has earned his shame.”
For a moment Midoru could not speak: the passion he had never felt on earth now threatened to choke him. He raised himself up and extended his claw-like hands towards Emma-O. “No,” he said. “No. He raised me as his son, teaching me all he knew about honor and war. No man could have asked for a better father but I did not see it. I was too petty, too focussed on what I thought he was denying me. I was the one who should have fallen in the Rain. I was the weak one!”
“He is devout,” a voice said.
“He is filial,” said another.
“His enemies are our enemies,” said all together.
Emma-O was silent. “I asked a favor of Konetsu once, and he granted it,” he said finally. “For the favor’s sake, I will grant you your prayer. But if you pursue it, it will lead you into great danger.”
“Danger is feared because it brings death,” Midoru said. “I have never feared it before. I certainly do not fear it now.”
“Where you will hunt death is not the only danger,” Emma-O said. “Listen now.”
* * * * *
The Fingers of Bone, several months ago
Master Saleh fidgeted, though he tried to hide it. The massive Ghul Lord stood next to him, unmoving, as if he were carved from granite.
“You have failed me.” The Dark Lord’s pronouncement caused no reaction from the hulking Ghul Lord, but Saleh’s fidgeting increased. He did not appear to be displaying fear, which would be a normal reaction to such words, but rather agitation and impatience.
“I have served you faithfully, Lord.” Saleh’s words seemed to ooze from him, almost as if they were leaving a trail.
“You told me that you had control over the dead. You both claimed that the dead would always serve me, as long as I wished them to.”
“As they shall, my Lord. Obedience is the first quality I enforce upon them.”
“Yet the dead move across Rokugan, with no concern for my orders. They do not serve my wishes, except when they do so co-incidentally. Tell me of these creatures.” He flicked a hand towards the Ghul Lord.
The large creature did not change its expression while it spoke. Its words were dry and passionless as they slid past his cracked, yellowed lips. His skin looked diseased, giving a sharp contrast to the strength and vitality of the muscles that rippled beneath. “They are a side-effect of the plague that grips Rokugan. The disease infests and infects its victims before moving on to the next one. Once the victim dies, if the body is not burned within a short period of time, the infection takes over the functions of the body and rises from its place of rest.”
Daigotsu barely let the Ghul Lord pause before saying, “Yes and then what?”
“We believed them to be uncontrolled – mindless. Just as those Master Saleh entreats to your service would be if we did not ensure their control and loyalty. They appeared to only have one motivation – to feed.”
Daigotsu shook his head. “If this were true, even the fools of Rokugan would have stopped them by now. Shows of force, no matter how strong, without thought and reason behind them are doomed to failure. They are little more than distraction. Is that what they are? Distraction for the Destroyers?”
The Ghul Lord nodded. “That is what we believed, Lord, but there have been signs that indicate that they are more than that. The dead of the plague have been working together organizing in ways we had thought impossible. Where we had believed the bodies were simply vessels animated by the plague, there have been signs of memory. Some have shown skills and knowledge from the body’s living time. None of these signs seem to override their primary motivation of feeding, but it did make us question what we believed to be true about these plague-created zombies.”
Daigotsu frowned. “Mere distraction or not, the plague has been very effective. I need to know what constitutes the head of this force’s body. Where are their orders coming from? Do they have a leader?”
“We have developed a plan, Lord.” Master Saleh sounded eager, or relieved at finally being able to share a secret that had been itching at him. “We had some of your minions capture one of these plague zombies. Do not worry, Lord,” Saleh responded to Daigotsu unspoken question, “we burned those who came into contact with it. There will be no outbreak here.”
Daigotsu sneered. “If there is an outbreak I will personally ensure that you are infected and I will keep you alive so you can suffer from its effects for an eternity.”
Saleh did not even pause at the threat. “I have used the Scarab Case to raise one of our own, yet one with the markings of the plague. I have created a plague zombie that answers only to us to you.”
“How can you be sure?”
Saleh smiled – a ghastly sight. “When I found the perfect subject – one with proven loyalty – he required some repairs. Omoni corrected its physical difficulties and helped me bond the disease to it, while ensuring no further decay. It is still infected, but the disease will not progress in the flesh of this particular creature.”
“And what do you plan to do with it?”
“Infiltration, my Lord.” Saleh looked to the Ghul Lord before continuing. “If the answers to your question are among the ranks of the zombies, we will discover them.”
The present
Shiba Sakaki waved at back at his unit, ordering their silence. He waited for a full minute, to ensure that the snapping twig he had heard was nothing more than his mind playing tricks on him. He smiled at his own skittishness as he released his unit.
Sakaki puffed out his chest and took a deep, cleansing breath. Some would consider his current duties to be no place for mirth, but Sakaki saw zombie hunting as just another indication of the many wonders the world had to offer. Life was an adventure, he thought. He meant to embrace it, wherever it would lead him.
He kept those thoughts as the dead fell upon his unit, pouring out of the trees like a wave falls upon the coastal rocks.
His unit was well trained and resisted the onslaught, for a time, but there were too many of the things. As Sakaki felt his katana wrested from his grasp he heard a strange mumbling in his head, as if something was trying to communicate with him but lacked either the faculties or capabilities to make its message clear.
One of the horrible creatures stopped in front of him, brandishing a sword in each hand. Sakaki felt, rather than heard, the sounds coming out of the thing’s mouth. For one split second the sounds aligned themselves in Sakaki’s brain and he could understand what the thing was trying to say.
All the color drained from Sakaki’s face. All the joy the he felt – that defined who he was – was gone, instantly. No longer did Shiba Sakaki marvel at the wonders of the world. Instead he saw the world for what it really was – bleak, hopeless, meaningless.
Then two swords plunged into him, and his last thoughts carried him to his afterlife.
Voitagi withdrew his swords and looked around for fresh prey. Seeing none, he followed the lead of the other dead he had fallen in with and began to feed.
