The Fall of the House of Chuda

The person who called himself Fumei looked across the campfire to the three ronin. “So, we have an agreement? I get the papers she carries, you get a koku to divide, whatever else she carries–and her.”

“Her?” The short one, who seemed to be the leader, looked up from the millet he was cooking. “She’s a Crane samurai; we’ll have to kill her to bring her down.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Fumei shrugged. “As I said, I have some small influence with the kami. With you three to provide a distraction I might be able to subdue her.”

The three men considered this, and after a moment the tallest one spoke. “She pretty?”

Fumei shrugged again. “In the Crane fashion.”

“A Crane woman,” the largest one mused, and Fumei could feel the malice rise off of him, hotter than the fire’s heat. Of all the weaknesses in human souls, he thought, petty vices were the easiest to exploit.

“So, we have an agreement?”

The leader gazed across the fire at Fumei. The stranger looked like a peasant, with worn field clothes and calloused hands, but there was something about the way he sat at ease and the wet black glitter of his eyes that gave lie to that. He glanced at this companions and saw that the stranger had found their price. “Yes,” the leader said, “the koku up front.”

“Agreed,” Fumei said, smiling. “Agreed.”

* * * * *

Gisei knelt by the tumbling stream and drank, savoring how the cool water washed away her weariness. Satisfied for the moment she dabbled her fingers idly in the water and considered her situation. They–she was certain that there was more than one–had been following her since midmorning, and the question about what to do about it vexed her. Uji had refused her permission to seppuku, so getting killed by bandits would not, technically, be disobedience. It was an easy solution to her problem, but Gisei hesitated to accept it. Her hand brushed the hilts of her daisho. They were swords ancient and beautiful, treasured relics of her house. Could she really allow them to be lost?

A soft footfall sounded behind her and Gisei made her decision. Rising from her crouch in an iai draw she spun, slicing the man behind her from hip to shoulder. Gisei noted that he hadn’t drawn his sword but didn’t pause to wonder about it. She ended her spin facing two more men. They had the ragged look of masterless men, but their swords were out and they clearly intended to use them. The taller one blinked at her, as if in surprise; the shorter one gave an irritated glance at the screaming man on the ground and flicked his attention back to her. “Now!” he barked. “We–”

Kill the general, halve the army, went the proverb. Gisei launched herself at the one speaking. He tried to parry her cut but she simply forced his blade away and swept back in to open his stomach. The last man backed away from her rapidly. “What are you waiting for?” he cried, and she obliged him by cutting off his head with her next stroke.

Gisei waited a long minute, trying to anticipate the next attack, but nothing happened. Warily she pulled out some paper and started to clean her blade, still listening. Ronin were frequently poorly educated, but they were rarely stupid–why had they attacked in such a disorganized fashion? There was a movement in the bushes to her right, and Gisei looked up to see a man in peasant clothing. “Farmer”, was her first thought, and then she saw the bloody knife in his right hand.

He grinned maniacally at her and gestured at her with his left hand, red drops scattering from his slashed palm. Gisei leaped over the headless corpse and then stumbled to her knees as pain clawed though her stomach. The tsukai laughed and started to chant. Suddenly Gisei was sharply, vividly aware of the katana she held, from the rough silk cording against the skin of her hands to its silent, keening protest of the tsukai’s presence. Without trying to stand she swung it at full extension, hitting the tsukai’s arm just above the wrist and half-slicing it off. Black fluid spewed out of the cut and the man staggered back, shrieking like a wounded horse. Gisei flowed back to her feet and pressed her attack, opening a wide gash in the man’s side.

“Yohko!” the tsukai screamed. “Yohko!”

Gisei stared at him, then she dropped her sword and seized him by the shoulders. “What do you know about Yohko?” she demanded. The man stared back at her with terror and confusion in his brown eyes. “Which Yohko?” she screamed, shaking him. The tsukai’s eyes began to close, and Gisei realized she held what was rapidly becoming a dead body. She flung him away and collapsed, trembling.

Yohko, she thought. Which Yohko? Had he known somehow about Grandmother? Or was this some ploy by her fallen cousin? If they had been sent to waylay, and not kill, the first ronin’s lack of a weapon made more sense. But what had they intended to do with her? Gisei spent a moment cursing in frustration and then climbed to her feet, feeling somewhat better. She needed to cut off the tsukai’s head, and the ronin’s also–just in case.

As she stepped over to the tsukai’s body she noticed for the first time that he was carrying a small rucksack over one shoulder. Gisei frowned in thought and then delicately worked it free of the body, being careful not to touch the dead flesh. Then she methodically severed the heads of her assailants and continued her journey, taking the rucksack with her.

* * * * *

Gisei lay in the darkness and stared sightlessly at the ceiling. The scrolls she had taken weighed on her mind, heavier than armor, heavier than the dead ogre who had ended her battle in the Shadowlands. She had taken them with all good intentions. “Yohko”, the tsukai had cried out. How had he known the name? What had it meant to him?

Her first fear had been that he meant Grandmother. The knowledge of her folly had been passed down through the ruling line of her family, and it was not difficult to believe that the darkness remembered her also. Her cousin would have had to hear the story from someone, and Gisei doubted that someone was Daidoji Uji. And if the tsukai had known of Grandmother’s story, his scrolls might also contain information about her. Gisei couldn’t take the risk of letting them be read by someone not under Uji’s control–there were too many lingering resentments between the families of the Crane.

Then there was the possibility that the tsukai was somehow connected with her Lost cousin. Gisei had spent the entire day worrying that her attackers had been sent by Yohko, but eventually she rejected the idea. Whatever her other failings were, Gisei couldn’t imagine the woman putting up with incompetence like that. An indirect connection, then, both hearing Grandmother’s story from a common source. And if that was so–if that was so, then perhaps that common source could be traced, and some clue to Yohko’s plans found. Thus her plan: to send word to Uji and turn over both an account of the attack and the tsukai’s scrolls.

Not that Uji would share any of the resulting information with her, Gisei thought bitterly. To him she was bait and nothing more. The thought pained her. He was within his rights to do so, but–wouldn’t she be a more effective agent if she knew something of what was going on? Her sensei had lectured endlessly about the importance of understanding the enemy’s motivations and objectives. Why should fighting Yohko be different than fighting the Lion?

Though maybe she was mis-judging Uji. He had, after all, given her the daisho that had reconnected her with Grandmother. Perhaps he would inform her of what the scrolls said. And if that was the case, wouldn’t it be more efficient for her to read them herself before sending them on? Gisei stared into the darkness for a long time. Then she quietly got up and set to work, reading.

* * * * *

Water Music Village in Sadojime Province was a small, rustic place notable only for its proximity to a truly beautiful waterfall, which attracted many artists, and the quality of its two inns, which catered to those artists. Gisei sat on the porch of the less fashionable inn with her writing supplies in front of her and watched the people going in and out of the sake house across the street. It was amazing, she thought. Normally someone going into a sake house to bribe a corrupt magistrate would be disturbed by the sight of a strange samurai watching said sake house. But having been at the inn for a week everyone knew that she had been sent here by her lord to work on her writing, and everyone knew that writers spent long periods of time staring off into space, with the result that no one paid any attention to her at all. It was an astonishing discovery, and one that made her think long and hard about her lord’s habit of doodling on random pieces of paper. Artists, after all, were expected to spend long periods of time staring at things.

Gisei picked up her brush, dabbed it on the ink stone and idly started work on a scene transition. She didn’t know what to do about the magistrate. Since the village didn’t belong to her lord she didn’t really have to do anything about him, but that knowledge didn’t satisfy her. She had walked out of the Changing Lands weighed down with the swords of honorable samurai who had died horribly; having this dishonorable cur live and grow fat was more than she could bear. “May he become allergic to tattoo ink,” she whispered to herself. It was the worst curse she had known as a child, the thing she and her classmates had feared most about their gempukku ceremony. Of course, she now knew far more effective curses.

Gisei grimaced in irritation. It had probably been a mistake to read those scrolls, she thought. It had seemed so reasonable at the time, but all it had done was give her dark and bitter knowledge that buzzed around her thoughts like a mosquito inside her bed’s netting.

Regret is a sin, she reminded herself. The thing was done, and she’d just have to put up with the annoyance until she could find a way to die. She dabbed her brush in the ink again and then looked up, attention caught by the arrival of a litter accompanied by two ronin. The bearers set the litter down in front of the slightly more fashionable inn, and after a moment the curtains rustled aside and a beautiful woman stepped out.

It was Kakita Unako.

Gisei stared at her for a moment and then forced her gaze down to her paper, hoping that Unako would decide to snub her. Her lord had spent a full afternoon questioning her about Unako’s actions and apparent motives at Doji Hanoshi’s Winter Court, and then never mentioned her again. Gisei had no idea of his thoughts, but she knew enough to realize that something had been set in motion, and she’d be told something when she needed to know it. In that, Uji and Yoshitaka were in complete agreement.

A rustle of cloth and the hem of Unako’s kimono swished into her view. “Why, Gisei, this is such a pleasant surprise,” the actress said in a honey-coated voice. “Have you eaten rice today?”

“I have,” Gisei said, looking up. The two ronin, she noted, had accompanied Unako. “And you?”

“Indeed, indeed,” Unako said, “though I have traveled many miles since then. I am on my way to Musame Mura to visit a friend, and to meet with some of the marriage brokers there.”

“Ah, you seek a husband? I am sure that a woman of your reputation will have no problems in finding a suitable match.” It was an effort, but Gisei thought she had kept her tone polite enough.

“Oh, I’m not going to speak with them on my behalf.” Unako smiled. “I’m going to speak with them about Doji Yamadori.”

Gisei opened her mouth and then shut it. She had never discussed the matter with Yamadori, but she was certain he was betrothed to someone. His family was too important for him not to be. Did Unako think to spoil that somehow? “Whatever for?” she said cautiously. “He has a fianc.”

“Had a fianc, betrothed to him in childhood. But the girl died in the plagues that followed Great Kumo’s assault on the Doji Plains, and now Doji Yamagata seeks a new bride for his son.”

Yamadori was unattached. Gisei forgot Unako for a moment, dazzled by possibilities. To wed Yamadori…. Grimly she shoved the thought down. It was an impossible dream, even if she wasn’t fatally compromised by her connection to Yokho. “The marriage brokers are honorable and conscientious women,” she said. “Nothing can stop them from arranging the most advantageous match they can find.”

“True, true,” Unako said. “Which means, of course, that a landless ji-samurai girl with no family has no chance of getting him.”

“I know what I am, Unako,” Gisei said evenly. “I enjoyed Yamadori the way I enjoy cherry blossoms.” She could feel anger rising within her, and fought to keep it from her face. It was one thing for Unako to seek revenge for the humiliation that Gisei had brought down on her at Winter Court, but for her to target Yamadori for it was intolerable.

Unako waved Gisei’s words away, unphased. “And since Yamagata writes ‘advantage’ with the characters for ‘money’, the brokers have great freedom in finding a wife for his son.” Her smile was undisguised venom now. “I have many helpful suggestions for them.”

Gisei’s fingers shifted on the brush so that she now held it the way one would hold a knife. “You will not hurt him,” she said. With some corner of her awareness she noted that the two ronin had gone into readiness, watching for the first sign that she was reaching for her katana. They, at least, understood the dangers of taunting a Daidoji.

“Hurt him?” Unako laughed. “How do I hurt him? His wife will have a pulse, and that’s all it takes for a woman to make him happy.”

“Well,” Gisei said brightly, “you would know.”

Unako’s smile vanished and she glared at Gisei for a long, sulpherous moment. Finally she spoke. “Of course, you could always stop me with your vast net of influential family members. Or your abundance of well-placed political contacts. Or your immense wealth.” Gisei remained silent during this list of things she didn’t have and Unako smiled again. “Things are so easy when one has power, are they not?” She turned gracefully and strolled back towards the other inn.

Power, Gisei thought. Then she righted her hold on the brush, dabbed it on the inkstone and started to write.

* * * * *

Gisei slid the door to her room shut and carefully placed her daisho on the rack beside the door. Then she covered her face with her hands and allowed herself a few minutes of trembling relaxation. She had spent the remainder of the afternoon mechanically recopying the story of Doji Hayaku from memory, over and over. At an appropriate hour she had taken her dinner in the common room, just as she always did. Then she drifted out to the garden, where she usually spent the evenings telling stories to the other guests. Her audience was larger than usual; word of the afternoon’s tiff with Unako had spread rapidly through the village.

Gisei had obliged their curiosity, scattering tales of her winter court in with her usual stories. She cast her trouble with Unako as a romantic struggle over a beautiful, dashing Kakita-trained duelist, and when she got to the denouement–her showing up in morning court, sleepy-eyed and carrying one of Yamadori’s fans–there was appreciative laughter and a few discreet propositions. She had politely refused those, and after some more idle talk she had left the gathering, more than satisfied by her performance. No one would remember anything out of the ordinary about her behavior. No one would think of her conflict with Unako as anything other than a petty winter squabble over a man.

No one would think of her when Kakita Unako died.

Taking a deep breath she walked over to the box that held her supply of used paper, knelt before it, and methodically started searching for the tsukai’s scrolls. Yamadori had already risked his honor and his life for her, and she wasn’t going to allow Unako to hurt him. It was as simple as that. Maho was dangerous beyond belief, but…Grandmother had used it. Used it, and done much more than what Gisei planned to do. And Unako would be dead, Yamadori would be safe, and Uji would be forced to execute her–victory all around. Out of the corner of her eye she saw her daisho, and shifted her position until she couldn’t see it anymore.

She had found two of the scrolls when a scratch at the door interrupted her and sent her heart pounding. “Yes?” Gisei called, hoping that she sounded normal.

The soft voice of one of the inn’s servants replied. “Daidoji-sama, I am so sorry to bother you, but there is a samurai here who says that he is a messenger from your lord.”

“I will see him now,” Gisei said, scooping the scrolls back into the box. What could this be for? she wondered. Yoshitaka had released her from her normal duties until the end of the month, and she couldn’t guess what would make him change his mind.

The door slid open and a man she didn’t recognize entered and bowed slightly to her. “Daidoji-sama,” he said, “I am Hiramori Dozan and I bear a message from Daidoji Yoshitaka-sama.”

Gisei knelt before him and touched her head to the floor, showing due respect to her lord’s words. “I am always pleased to hear from my lord.” Dozan offered her a scroll case, then quietly sat down to wait. Gisei broke the seal on the case, shook out the scroll, and started to read.

Gisei-chan,

After missing the season last winter I feel the need to make this year’s Harvest Festival grander than usual. I have therefore let it be known that I am inviting the great actress Kakita Unako to attend–many people will come just in the hopes of witnessing a scandal, and even if she declines my invitation the gossip will keep my guests endlessly entertained.

I am putting the arrangements in your hands; use whatever resources you require.

Regards,

Daidoji Yoshitaka

Gisei studied the words and the doodles that filled the margins of the note–a crane hunting in a marsh, a single piece of sushi, a cherry tree in bloom–and felt relief wash over her. “Unako must die”, the message said, and gave her the power she needed to make that happen. She didn’t need the scrolls at all. Gisei spent a moment wondering what Yoshitaka had learned about Unako and then put the question aside; she was now the last person he would share that kind of information with. It was a useful coincidence that Unako happened to be passing through the village she was staying at, she thought. Or maybe not, she amended. Water Music Village had been Yoshitaka’s suggestion.

“Hiramori-san, my lord wishes me to deliver an invitation to Kakita Unako.”

“My brothers and I have been instructed to assist you.”

* * * * *

“The Fall of the House of Chuda” was Trf’Tcha’K-m’s most ambitious play, with a novel rearrangement of the traditional scenes. Yohko didn’t think the experiment was entirely successful, but she had asked for a re-staging of the play anyway–as the playwrights’ patron she felt obliged to encourage his development as an artist. Isawa Chuda was on stage, soliloquizing about the dangers of knowledge when Yohko became aware of an inky-black form next to her.

“Makaze-sama!” she said, bowing low. “I am so sorry, I didnt see you arrive.”

“Few do,” he said, waving her apologies away. “What in the Dark Daughter’s name is going on here?”

Yohko glanced at the stage and saw that a messenger had rushed on stage to warn Chuda Tamihei about the approaching Phoenix army. “It’s difficult to say,” she said. “Chuda Reiko hasn’t even used maho yet, and the Phoenix never do show up. I think Trf’Tcha’K-m is trying to make a statement about fate.”

“No, I mean, why are you bothering with these vermin at all?”

Yohko bristled. “These ‘vermin’ are a far better kabuki troop than you’ll find anywhere in the Crab lands.”

“Granted, but still, why bother? The Crane lands aren’t that far, if you want some theater why not just go home?”

“The time is not right,” Yohko said shortly. “I’ve too much to do right now.” She didn’t like to be reminded of the green fields of her home, and didn’t want to think about why that was. “You should come back next week; Trf’Tcha’K-m has written a new play for me about the Second Day of Thunder.”

“You asked for a play about the defeat of our Kami?”

“Why not? I love a good tragedy.”

Makaze shook his head. “Cranes….You’ll be happy then to hear of the tragic deaths of a farmer and three ronin at the hands of a well-intentioned but mis-informed Crane samurai.”

“It worked, then.”

“Without a flaw. Almost. Her katana knew me for what I was, and it actually hurt me. She didn’t seem to realize what was happening, though. She took the scrolls and read them all.”

“Excellent,” Yohko purred. “It’s only a matter of time, now.”

“We could give time some help.”

“I dont know,” Yohko said, thinking it over. “Gisei can be so prickly at times; it might be best to watch and wait for her to find her own reasons to use the power we’ve given her.”

“You are sure that she will use it.”

Yohko stared unseeing at the stage, where Chuda Tamihei raised a bloody knife to heaven and swore to defend his family. “She will,” she said.