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By Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan
The temple was quiet. It was probably the only place in the whole of Taiki Mura that was not filled with desperate defenders or the walking wounded. Why the wounded did not seek solace here, the warrior did not understand, but for whatever reason they did not. He regretted that so few among them were truly faithful, but if it meant that he had more privacy, even for a short time, then he could accept it. He only hoped that the men and women who fought beside him had prepared their souls for the next world, should they fall in battle.
The sound of footsteps across the cold stone floor was a distinctive and unmistakable sound, although not one the warrior had grown accustomed to since he began frequenting this particular temple. “I thought I might find you here,” a musical voice said. Every time that he heard it, he dreamed of what it would sound like in song. He supposed he might never know. “I have news you will wish to hear, else I would not have disturbed you. I know your meditations are important to you.”
The warrior stood. “I thank you for that, Sadaka-sama, but my duty must precede my personal preferences.” He bowed slightly before his commanding officer. “I assume the news must be of great importance since it could not wait.”
Kakita Sadaka smiled. “It is indeed.” She gestured at the young, solemn-faced boy at her side. The boy bore a katana despite his youth. “This is Chikara. You might say he is my new hatamoto. I thought it best if he accompany me. I trust you do not mind.”
“Of course.”
“Chikara, this is Hida Manoru. He is a member of the Jade Legion and, as such, is presently the senior Crab officer in Taiki Mura.”
The boy’s eyes flickered to the Crab’s Imperial mon. “It is an honor, my lord,” he said. His voice was utterly without emotion.
“I have made the decision to fall back,” Sadaka continued. “As you are no doubt aware, the front line of the Destroyers ebbs and flows like the tide. At the next ebb, we will abandon our position here and fall back to the secondary line.”
Manoru stared for a moment. “Why?”
Sadaka looked away. Her composure was one of the things Manoru admired her, and to see even the briefest flicker in it like this indicated that something significant had taken place. “The Scorpion troops have fallen back already. They made a tactical decision that the village could not be held. Without them bolstering our ranks” her voiced trailed off.
“What game are the Scorpion playing?” Manoru wondered aloud. “Failing to defend their own lands is unthinkable.”
“The Scorpion rarely do anything without some convoluted plan,” Sadaka said. “I am sure this is no different. It would of course be arrogant of us to assume that they would inform us of whatever this plan might be.”
“I will give my men the orders, my lady,” Manoru said with a bow. “However, I will not be joining you myself.”
Chikara looked somewhat confused, and Sadaka raised an eyebrow at the comment. “You have other orders?”
“I have a great weariness in my soul, my lady,” Manoru said. “My mandate as a Crab and as a Jade Legionnaire is to prevent the loss of the pure to the corrupt. I do not think that I can stand by and allow one more village, one more temple, to fall to the Destroyers.” He shook his head. “I will remain. I think I will defend this temple.”
Sadaka looked amazingly weary. “I cannot ask you to go against your honor, but I would think that your Champion has lost enough loyal samurai in t his war already. Would you disagree?”
Manoru smiled. “Your statement indicates that you think I will die. I do not feel that I will die today.”
“I sincerely hope that you do not,” Sadaka said. “Regardless, the forces under my command will be withdrawing within the hour.” She bowed sharply. “If we do not meet again, it has been a great pleasure having you under my command.”
“The pleasure was mine,” Manoru said. He drew his weapon and placed it on the temple’s altar. “If you do not mind, my lady, I wish to prepare myself.”
* * * * *
The able men of the village had assembled in the courtyard, farming implements and improvised weapons in hand. They stood there behind a group of ronin bearing an Imperial mon of sorts. Doji Hakuseki had seen the mon several times before during the course of the war, but had not served with any wave men directly. As she pulled her steed to a stop, she realized that they were of course members of the Legion of Two Thousand. There were ronin throughout the assembled clan forces, but not in significant numbers, and never in major positions of command save when the Legion was involved. Hakuseki was surprised to see them here, as she had not been aware that any detachment had been seconded to this small village in the unaligned lands. Something within her assured her that this was not a beneficial development. “I wish to speak to whoever is in charge,” she said plainly, nodding respectfully to the ronin who stood at the village’s head.
A man carrying two blades stepped forward. “I am Nitoru, my lady,” he said with a bow. “I am the gunso of these men.”
“Well met, gunso,” Hakuseki replied. “I have been dispatched to ensure that this village is evacuated. The Destroyers approach, most likely arriving some time tomorrow.”
The ronin nodded. “We are a scout patrol, my lady. We are aware of their impending arrival.”
“Excellent,” Hakuseki said. “Then you have prepared the village already.”
“That was our original intent, yes,” Nitoru confirmed. “However, the villagers prefer to remain.”
Hakuseki blinked in surprise for a moment. “I would imagine that the concern of the villagers would be to remain alive. Beyond that, their concerns are irrelevant.”
The ronin’s eyes were unreadable. “Many would say such things about wave men, were we not currently of use.”
“You will forgive me if I do not find your philosophical reservations of tremendous concern just now,” Hakuseki said harshly. “My orders are to see this village evacuated. It is named for a kinsmen, and I am not particularly keen on its destruction, but I do as ordered, and I expect you to do the same.”
“They will not leave,” Nitoru said. “The village, they say, was renamed in honor of the greater hero Yasuki Hachi, who delivered them from the clutches of a maniacal bandit lord. To abandon their home without fighting for it would disgrace his memory, and that is the one thing they will not do. Instead, they will fight and die if necessary, to honor Hachi and their Empress.” The wave man shrugged. “I will not force them to do what they wish. Indeed, I will stand beside them, if they will have me.”
The Crane officer shook her head. “This is ridiculous. You understand that victory against the Destroyers with your present numbers is completely impossible?”
“We do not hope to be victorious,” Nitoru explained. “However, we do hope to claim a great number of enemy lives in the name of the Empress. If we can thwart them on this advance, perhaps the main force can be weakened.”
At this, Hokuseki hesitated. She looked from one to the other for a moment, then glanced over her shoulder at the other officers accompanying her. “Mitsouko,” she said.
“Hai, commander?” a young officer said as she stepped forward.
“Prepare a report that all willing members of the village Hachi Mura accompanied us back to the battle lines. Report that a scout squadron of the Legion gave their lives to grant them the time required to evacuate the willing.”
“Hai, commander.”
Hakuseki shook her head at the ronin. “I hope your death means more than you seem to think your life did.”
Nitoru managed a thin smile. “As do I, my lady. As do I.”
* * * * *
Mirumoto Mareshi rubbed his face vigorously, attempting to stave off the blurriness that had been plaguing his vision for the past several hours. He was not sure of the cause. He was weary but did not feel ill, and had been subjected to nothing unusual that might cause such a strange symptom. Had it not persisted for so long he would pay it no attention, but he was growing increasingly concerned that it may continue into battle, and that could prove a devastating impediment. Lost in his thoughts, he realized that the officer to his right had spoken a moment earlier and seemed to be waiting for a response. “I am sorry, what did you ask me?”
The duelist shook his head. “You need sleep, my lord.”
“Sleep?” Mareshi said, as if the word were new to him. “Do not be silly, I slept only a short time ago, and I hardly have the time for”
“That was three days past, my lord,” Mirumoto Yozo said. “You have not rested for three days. I am keenly aware of the timeline because I have been at your side the entire time.”
“Oh,” Mareshi said. “Do you require sleep, then?”
“I will rest when you do, not before,” Yozo said.
“Brace yourself, then,” Mareshi said darkly. “I do not see the opportunity arising in the immediate future.”
“So be it.”
The kami swirled about them, invisible to all eyes. Mareshi could not see them, but as ever he could sense their presence, a unique ability that he presumed was a result of his human-Naga ancestry. On most days he had learned to completely ignore their whispers, for while the kami could offer valuable insight, they were also capricious and could easily lead him down the wrong path with their misperceptions of human behavior and interaction. Not for the first time, he noticed that the spirits of fire raged around Yozo particularly strongly. “What is the current status of the village?”
“Poor,” Yozo said flatly. “During the last push, a lone Destroyer managed to survive long enough to reach the Tsuruchi line. We lost a great number of archers before it was felled. By that time you could scarcely tell what the damnable thing was, it had so many Tsuruchi arrows in it. Regardless, when the next push comes, our ranged defenses will be severely limited.”
“That is not good,” Mareshi said with a sigh. “What is the status of the line?”
“Holding,” Yozo said. “Since the Akodo officer fell in battle, our kinsman Katsutoshi has taken command at the front. He and his `hostage’ have more confirmed kills than any five others.”
“This is not a contest,” Mareshi said sharply. “Treating it as such is foolish and I want it stopped at once.”
“If you wish, my lord,” Yozo said. “For what it is worth, the morale among the men has improved with Katsutoshi’s leadership.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the Akodo was just an incompetent fool like so many of his clansmen, but I think Katsutoshi may”
Mareshi held up a hand. “I would be spared any more of your thoughts regarding the Lion, Yozo,” he said. “It grows tiresome.”
“The truth is often tiresome, my lord,” Yozo said frankly. “I will not offer insult if that is how you find it, however.”
“For that I am grateful,” Mareshi said, his tone smart. “What is the dispensation of the villagers?”
“The Tsuruchi evacuated them several days ago,” Yozo reminded him. “There was an avalanche of some sort in the nearby mountains, and apparently that set some of the more superstitious peasants on edge. The Tsuruchi apparently felt it would be best to have them evacuate.” He shook his head. “They certainly took everything with them. I have never seen so many carts for such a relatively low number of villagers.”
“Foolish,” Mareshi said. “But understandable, I suppose. Your assessment of Katsutoshi?”
Yozo shrugged. “He is a good soldier, if a little flamboyant. A bit self-aggrandizing for my tastes, but a skilled officer.”
Mareshi was quiet for a moment. “We need to regroup. I do not trust Katsutoshi to place our duty before the glory of battle.”
Yozo said nothing at first. “That is a strong rebuke, my lord.”
Mareshi was silent. He wished to tell the officer that the kami whispered ill omens concerning Katsutoshi. That he was great, but terrible. That he was dark and twisted inside. But of course, who understood the kami’s whispers? Not even he did, not really. “You have your orders, Yozo-san,” he said. “Please see them carried out.”
* * * * *
Toko picked the grapes as fast as he could, his fingers virtually flying along the vines. The work would have been much faster, except that the grapes were not quite ripe just yet, and plucking them from the vine was a little more difficult than if they were fully ready to be picked. That, of course, and the fact that he was more terrified than he had ever been in his life. As he looked over his shoulder, Toko reflected that his uncle, the wise and generous older man that had brought him into his home after his much younger brother and wife had died, was not quite as pleasant as he constantly assured others he was. In fact, Toko had in these past few hours decided that his uncle was a terrible person.
The notice to evacuate the village had come in plenty of time, and virtually everyone that Toko knew was long since gone. His uncle had lingered, however, and it was not until the others had gone that he understood why. The old man had assured him that they could make an extraordinary amount of money by taking all the grapes they could from the vines, despite that they were not ready for picking for another week at least. The Destroyers would leave nothing intact, after all, so why not take the grapes early? They could be made into a potent beverage, and the village’s vintage would live on. Not to mention the money that uncle would make selling it, of course. When Toko had expressed concern about getting out in time, his uncle had turned angry and struck him. He would not leave until he had picked every grape that was fit to be picked! And so Toko found himself here.
There was a tearing sound from the vineyard’s outer area. A splintering sound, it was, as if the stakes that held the vine-bearing ropes had been torn from the ground. And of course that must be exactly what had happened. Toko stifled a whimper, but it was a near thing. His basket, full nearly to the brim with slightly unripened grapes, lay forgotten at his feet. He stepped backwards once, twice, then three times, each time listening for the sound that would mean the monster was charging toward him after hearing his foosteps.
A scream came from the house down the rows. It was his uncle. The things were there as well. Toko dropped to the ground and placed his hands on his head. What would he do? There was nothing he could do! His uncle’s greed had cost him his life, and now it would claim Toko’s as well. The young boy’s eyes swam with tears, but he would not cry.
Next to Toko was a yelp of surprise and discomfort. Toko nearly screamed and back-peddled furiously, then stopped. There was a monk, bare-chested and swathed in tattoos, standing there with a strange look on his face. “These,” the monk said, pointing to the basket at his feet, “are too sour.”
Toko blinked. “They they are not ripe yet,” he said after a moment. He could not think of anything else.
“Then why are you picking them?”
“My uncle told me to?”
The monk wiped dirt from his hands and shook his head. “I fear your uncle may be a bit of a fool, then. These are good for nothing in their current state.”
“He they killed him,” Toko said. “The Destroyers. They are here. We must run!”
“I have traveled quite far already today,” the monk said. His tone indicated he felt no fear, nor even concern, over what Toko had said. The boy wondered if the monk were addled in some way. “I would really rather rest a bit, if it is all the same to you.”
The splintering sound came again, and Toko felt himself pale. “They are here!” he whimpered. “Please, sama, we must run!”
“I met a prophet once,” the monk said. “A real one, too. The former Agasha family daimyo, as it turns out. He spoke to me, which surprised me greatly, for at the time I was merely a well, I was not a monk. We shall simply say that I was something else. But certainly I was beneath his notice.”
“Please!” Toko whispered.
“He said to me, `Togashi Osawa,’ although he used another name at the time because at that time it was not my name. That is not important, I suppose, but I think it is vital to be clear. In any event, he told me that I would either die on this day, this very day in which we stand at this moment, or that I would live to be an old man of such advanced years that I would become something of a legend. Do you not think that strange?”
Toko was horrified. “You came to a village where the Destroyers are attacking on the day a prophet once told you that you might die?”
Osawa seemed to find the question confusing. “If I am to be a legend, should I not make it a legend worth knowing? And if I had stayed in the mountains, who is to say that I might not have eaten a poisoned date or something equally silly? No, if I am to die, this seemed the proper means of doing so.”
A Destroyer crashed through the vines, uprooting everything in its path. Its metal head cast back and forth until it settled upon the two, as if just finding them after a long search. Toko covered his head. “We are doomed!”
“Well, as I said, you may be correct and our painful deaths are imminent,” Osawa said, cracking his knuckles. “I cannot wait to see if that is the case!” He stopped for a moment and seemed to think. “Perhaps you should go. This is something of a private matter. Destiny, after all.”
Toko wailed and ran from the vineyard, his hands flailing desperately. Osawa chuckled and turned back to the ironclad monster facing him. “Children these days, eh? Now, I believe you and I had business.”
