Endgame

The final confrontation between the magistrate Seppun Tashime and his quarry, the engimatic Gray Woman!

Endgame

By Shawn Carman

Edited by Fred Wan

The people of the village did not turn out to see the caravan, at least not in the sense one might expect. Things were too busy for that. It was not harvest season, but it was close enough, and their days were filled with a seemingly endless list of things that must be done before darkness fell, lest their months and months of work be undone by meager fate. Still, most found some way to schedule their chores so that they passed by the road during the hour of expected arrival. The pious knelt. The oblivious stared in slack-jawed awe. The wise spoke to the young. “There goes a great hero,” they said in reverent tones. “There passes a scion of the Imperial families! A glorious servant of the Divine Empress!”

The magistrate and his guard continued along the path to the temple.

* * * * *

Weeks ago…

Seppun Tashime sat in solitude in a secondary chamber of the temple. He had been there since dawn, and showed no signs of leaving. He had come to find peace, and as yet it eluded him. The work that lay ahead of him was arduous at best, impossible at worst, and Tashime knew that he could not hope to succeed without finding his center. He could afford no weakness. Weakness would end him and all those who followed him.

Elsewhere in the temple, there was a commotion as a group of young samurai held a vigorous discussion among themselves. Tashime looked at them for a moment and smiled. Had it been so long since the days of his youth? He marveled at the variety of clans represented with the younger men and women, and chuckled inwardly as a monk stepped among them to try and mediate whatever discussion had animated them so. How many times in the Empire’s history had the Brotherhood averted disaster? They were wiser by far than he had ever been. Perhaps he should consider…

“Has your time in the temple brought you peace, honored guest?”

Tashime smiled at the older abbot. “No, brother, I am sad to say that it has not.”

“That is unfortunate,” the monk said. “Is there anything that I can do to assist you, Tashime-sama?”

The magistrate raised his eyebrows. “You know me?”

“We of the Brotherhood seek to insulate ourselves against the prejudices and influences of the outside world, but one of our precepts is that we are known by our works.” The elderly man’s face curled up in a warm smile. “Your works are well known indeed, Tashime-sama.”

Tashime bowed his head. “You honor me with praise I do not deserve, brother.”

“And you conduct yourself with modesty that belies your deeds, honored magistrate,” the abbot replied. “Your virtues, it seems, are without limit. In a day when there are too few who are truly worthy of emulation, may I ask what drives you? You have accomplished so much and inspired so many… what is it that pushes you beyond the love of bushido and Empress?”

“Atonement, brother,” Tashime said. “I require atonement.”

* * * * *

The temple was devoted to Bishamon, and was merely one of many throughout the Lion provinces. The Fortune of Strength was much respected in those lands, second perhaps only to Hachiman, the Fortune of Battle. The temple in question was less trafficked than most because it was the closest thing that passed for a repository of knowledge among the Order of Strength; it was, albeit only by the most generous description, a library. And it was here that the Imperial delegation ended their trek from the city of Toshi Ranbo.

The magistrate dismounted and surveyed the area in the courtyard. “I wish to speak with the ranking member of the Brotherhood.”

A monk wearing the traditional wrappings of the Order of Strength stepped forward and bowed sharply. “I am Horu, my lord.”

The samurai nodded respectfully. “I received word from a monk of this temple that they had discovered historical texts which might shed light upon the nature and origin of the so-called Order of the Spider. Is this correct?”

“It is, my lord,” Horu answered.

“And who is responsible for discovering this alleged text?” the magistrate asked. “I have had scholars across the Empire searching for exactly that information, all without bearing fruit. To whom do I owe thanks for discovering this treasure?”

Horu gestured to one of the other monks, a woman in the same wrappings. “Koshai discovered the information in an archive, incorrectly labeled and filed in the improper location. Else we would surely have discovered it long ago.”

“You have my thanks, sister Koshai,” the magistrate said. “Your information will doubtless prove invaluable. How may I thank you for your assistance?”

The monk Koshai bowed sharply. “By dying, my lord.” She lifted a hand and unleashed a blast of fire, shot through with black, that lifted the magistrate off the ground and threw him across the length of the courtyard, leaving him smoldering on the ground.

“No!” one of the guards shouted, drawing his blade.

“Pathetic,” the female monk said, snapping her fingers. A dozen more sohei appeared from every corner of the courtyard, completely surrounding all the Imperial guards. “Kill them.”

* * * * *

“Atonement?” the abbot asked incredulously. “I look at you, master magistrate, and I see only a soul above reproach, a man who has devoted himself and his life to the solemn duty of justice for all who are wronged. For what act could you possibly require atonement, if I may ask?”

“You may ask,” Tashime said. “My failures have been many. The fact that my successes are celebrated by a great number of people does not mean that my failures can be forgotten. Even if others choose to do so, I cannot permit myself that luxury.”

The abbot was looking at him intently. “I did not see it before,” he admitted, “but you have the soul of a penitent. But I believe you are a false penitent. I do not believe that your soul requires cleansing, yet you forge ahead in hopes of doing exactly that.” He shook his head. “You seek a peace that could easily be yours if you but accepted it.”

“Not so long ago, I confessed to another member of your order that I was weak during the execution of my duty, that I allowed weakness and emotion to compromise my judgment. And the ultimate outcome of that weakness was the loss of a valued vassal, a woman of great promise and ability. She should not have died.”

“Samurai die in the execution of their duties every day,” the abbot said. “Many profess that such a fate is precisely what they desire. I have my issues with that, but you cannot deny that it is a prevalent philosophy.”

“She died, and then she rose again,” Tashime continued. “She exists still, a grave threat to the Empire, because of my weakness.”

“Ah,” the abbot said. “The influence of Jigoku on the mortal realm cannot be the fault of any soul that does not deliberately embrace its darkness.”

“Can it not?” Tashime said. “I am no longer certain.”

The monk was quiet for a time. “There is something more. Something you feel you cannot share. I do not ask that you do so with me, honored samurai, but know that whatever it might be, you are not…”

“I have a daughter.”

“I see,” the monk said. He frowned. “I had heard that you were unmarried, but I fail to see how this…”

“I was very young, barely past my gempukku,” Tashime said. “I had a dalliance with a woman and… well, there were ramifications. It was not until the deed was done that I realized the implications, not just for myself but for my whole family. I vowed on that day that I would only ever advance the cause of the Seppun family.” He smiled. “And yet look what I have unleashed upon the Empire. I am a disgrace.”

“You are a man,” the abbot insisted. “You are not without flaws. None of us who are mortal are.”

“In order to make up for the shame of my actions, my daughter has never known who I am,” Tashime said. “To honor my duties, I have forsaken my role as a father. Will she grow up embittered and hateful? Even after all I have done to try and make up for my mistakes, will my daughter commit even more because of what I have done?” He looked down at his hands. “How is it possible to leave the world a better place?”

“You have already done that,” the abbot assured him.

“We shall see,” Tashime said. He withdrew a scroll from his belt and handed it to the abbot. “If you receive word of my death, please open this and use the information to find my daughter. Tell her… well, tell her who her father was.”

“Her father is a great man.”

“Perhaps in death I will be able to finally fulfill all my obligations,” Tashime said. He smiled and rose. “Thank you for listening to a fool ramble, brother. I hope the day finds you well. I apologize if the severity of my situation has made me somewhat ill-behaved. I would appreciate it if you did not speak of this.”

The monk frowned. “This was some form of catharsis for you, Tashime-sama?”

The magistrate only smiled. “Weakness must be purged before battle. To do otherwise is foolishness made manifest.”

* * * * *

The sohei and the Imperial guardsmen were busily killing one another, but the woman once known as Tamori Shaiko, presently known as the Grey Woman, and only momentarily known by the tongue-in-cheek alias of Koshai, crossed the courtyard to examine the form of her enemy. “Tashime,” she said with a chuckle. “I must confess, I feel somewhat disappointed. This was entirely too anticlimactic. But then you never really had a chance, did you?”

The magistrate sat up suddenly, his clothing still smoldering, and blasted Shaiko with a gout of fire not unlike the one she had used only moments before, save that it was free of any veins of black corrupting its purity. Shaiko’s answering cry was equal parts pain and rage, and even as she leapt up from the ground where she had landed, she had to throw herself to the side as one of the guardsmen very nearly cut her in two. “I thought you were cleverer than this, Shaiko,” the guardsman said, casting aside his mempo. “This ruse is childish.”

“Desperate times!” Shaiko shouted, throwing aside the portion of her robes that were burning. “I see your penchant for disguise remains! More fool I for expecting something original from you!”

Tashime turned aside a bolt of lightning that the woman threw at him with his blade, the thickly wrapped cloth handle heating up under his hands. “I am sorry for what happened to you. I failed you.”

“Your damnable quest turned me into this!” Shaiko shrieked. “I would thank you for the power if I did not hate you so completely!”

Tashime circled her, keeping his blade guard up. “Iyedo!” he shouted. “Are you well?”

“Well enough, my lord,” the Crab called back. “Surely impersonating you has been the highlight of my life.”

“Now is not the time!” Tashime shouted back, irritated by the Crab’s infrequent but always ill-timed bursts of sarcasm. His gaze never wavered from Shaiko. “End this,” he said softly. “Let go of this unnatural existence. Do not forget who you were.”

“You have no idea who I am,” Shaiko hissed.

“The woman I knew, the woman… the woman I loved… would never have wanted this mockery to continue.” He hesitated. “Is there anything of her left in you?”

“You will die without ever knowing!” She tore at the air with a clawed hand, causing sharp spires of earth to jut upward toward the sky in a line between her and Tashime.

The magistrate threw himself to the side, one of the spires tearing through his sleeve and into the flesh of his arm. He clenched his teeth but did not cry out. With his other hand, he threw a small pouch toward his enemy. It ruptured in his face and filled her eyes and throat with a thick, cloying pepper, causing her to gasp and claw at her face. It did not matter that she did not need to breathe, Tashime knew, only that she believed it. He leapt at her, his blade held high. At the last minute, as his steel descended toward her unliving flesh, her red eyes looked up at him with absolute hatred and disgust.

Tashime’s blade tore through Shaiko’s midsection nearly to the spine even as her undead claw tore across his chest, shredding his robes and flaying the flesh from his bones. She collapsed in a moaning heap while he staggered a number of steps before he fell to the ground, his blood rapidly staining the earth around him. “Iyedo,” he rasped. “Iyedo…”

The face of the Crab shugenja appeared in his field of vision, but it was broken and bloodied, and his eyes stared unseeing into the distance. His body was dropped onto the ground beside Tashime, and for the first time the magistrate realized that the only sound he could hear was a crackling, as if fire were consuming the temple. There were no sounds of fighting, not anymore. A lone monk stood and looked at him for a moment, his hands still stained with the shugenja’s blood, then turned to regard Shaiko.

“Master,” she croaked, her voice weak and fading. “Master, help me.”

The monk looked at her for a long time. “No,” he finally said, and turned his back on her. He approached Tashime again. “You have been inconvenient.”

“S… surrender… yourself,” Tashime managed, his hands clutching his wounds.

“I presume that is some measure of humor,” the monk said. “Irrelevant, but unexpected. You… are worthy. If you survive, if you live and are capable of posing a threat once more, seek me out. I will not insult you by casting further unworthy vassals in your path. You and I will speak again, if your Heavens permit you to live. We shall see.”

The monk was gone. Tashime lay in the blood-soaked earth as the temple burned down, his head swimming, his vision blurred.

The world went black around him.