An Empire in Turmoil…

“There! Do you see that?” Doji Kuwanan’s armor, lacquered in the blue and silver colors
of the Crane Clan, clinked as he pointed to the thin column of dust rising along the
horizon where plains met sky.

His patrol partner, Takeaki, shielded his eyes from the bright glare of the sun and
squinted. “A merchant’s cart? The spring rains are late this year,” he said, kicking up dust
of his own under his armored zori sandals.

Around them, birdsong mixed with the chants and drumming of the peasants as they
rhythmically tilled the soil and spread seeds atop the furrowed earth. A cool breeze
brought the earthy smell of fertilizer to the pair of samurai warriors and sent ripples
across the plains.

Kuwanan shook his head. “There’s too much dust for a single cart. And no caravan’s due
for weeks yet.” He hurried atop the nearby arched bridge to get a better look. A blur of
dark brown silhouettes emerged from behind a gently sloping hill, speeding toward them.

“Quiet!” Kuwanan bellowed at the farmers, who ceased their dance of sowing and
planting in an instant. The distant thunder of galloping hooves soon overtook the sound
of chattering birds, and Takeaki muttered a curse.

“Someone’s coming! Get back to the village!” Kuwanan shouted, and the peasants
scrambled up to the road. He and Takeaki strung their bows and took up defensive
positions atop the bridge. “If the Lion are fnally mounting an attack, let them try to take
this village from us!” He nocked an arrow and prepared to take aim.
 A Season of War

Kakita Asami of the Crane Clan delicately reflled four teacups: one for each of her Lion
Clan hosts, one for her bodyguard, and fnally one for herself. How she longed to be a
student again, when mastering proper tea-pouring techniques was the greatest of her
worries, not whether she could prevent a war between her people and the Lion Clan.

She stifled a wistful sigh and settled back into a seated kneeling position on the tatami
mat floor. The meeting room was small and plain by Crane standards, but then again, she
was in a castle in the heart of Lion lands.

“Our priests have heard the laments of our honored ancestors. They demand the Crane
return the Osari Plains to their rightful owners,” warned Ikoma Eiji, a Lion Clan historian
and her diplomatic counterpart.

His attendant, the warrior Matsu Beiona, paced one side of the room, her mouth
hardened into a frown. Beneath that mask of self-control, rage and frustration seethed. It
wouldn’t take much to incite her into an outburst, but that wouldn’t serve Asami’s
purposes here. Her father
had bidden that she provide a diplomatic back channel in case tempers flared too hot
during the more public rounds of negotiation at the Imperial Capital.

And if tempers flared here, too—well, that’s why Kaezin-san had been appointed her
personal bodyguard, her yōjimbō.

Asami sipped her tea and smiled softly. “Perhaps your shugenja misread the omens. The
Crane Clan is the rightful owner of the plains.” Even if the Lion shugenja were
true mediums between this world and their ancestors, supernatural “evidence” wasn’t
admissible as proof in any legal proceedings.

The Ikoma historian rose and gestured toward the horizon, his eyes narrowing in
indignation. “Your warriors have occupied these lands for but two turns of the seasons.
Before that, the Lion were its protectors.”
Asami looked to her own stoic guardian, who kept a close watch on the Matsu. She began
tactfully: “For three short generations, yes, the Lion were its protectors. But our elders
can remember the days when the Crane tended the beasts of those pastures and reaped
the harvest of those felds—as we did for centuries untold.”

The Crane needed those lands now more than it had ever needed them before. After the
tsunami, their rice paddies in the coastal provinces had been devastated, and their
priests did not know when the Earth spirits would return to the felds and bless their crops
once more. For the same reasons, her clan could not aford a war, especially while
fghting intensifed at Toshi aanbo.

“The Crane stole those lands from the Lion!” The Ikoma snapped his fan shut and pointed
it at Asami. “It was not through strength of blade and honor that the day was won, but
through foul trickery. The Crane did not have enough numbers to prevail, and yet
somehow they did. The Lion remember. Our ancestors do not lie.”

Asami took a deep breath. She had known this accusation was coming, but the foresight
did not soften the sting of his words.

The historian stopped in front of a scroll bearing a quote from Akodo’s Leadership, the
defnitive treatise on the art of war by the Kami himself. “Without honor, there is no
victory. Without fear, there is no defeat,” it read. He stroked his goatee as if in thought.

Asami recalled a diferent line from Akodo’s Leadership, and she considered ofering its
wisdom to her host: On the battlefeld, all actions are honorable.

But he continued before she could speak. “At the dawn of the Empire, the frst Hantei
charged Lord Akodo himself with maintaining these lands on his behalf. The very Heavens
ordained that they belong beneath the Lion’s banner.”

Asami closed her eyes, and prayed to Lady Doji that her next words would bear the
weight of her determination and the levity of her foremother’s grace. “We cannot forever
dwell in the past; it is in the present that we must live. If the Heavens had truly decreed
that the Lion be its safekeepers, your forces would not have lost to our own.”
Uncomfortable silence pressed between them. Beyond the open screen doors and the
veranda that circled the inner courtyard, cherry blossoms swirled in the breeze. The
petals reminded her of a blizzard, of the long nights spent at home with stories, songs,
and the smiles of her childhood sweetheart. But winter was already past, and spring
would soon be over as well. Summer, the season of war, grew near.

The Ikoma began his counterattack. “The fact remains that the Lion are best equipped to
ensure the plains’ continued protection. Your coastal holdings have fallen prey to pirate
incursions on too many occasions. It would be a shame if a similar roving band of
miscreants were to attack the Osari villages. Do we not want the same thing: to
safeguard the Emperor’s lands as efectively as possible?”

Asami had to consider her words carefully, lest she insinuate that the answer was “no.”
“We will protect these lands well.”

“Then let us try out the courtier’s theory!” the Matsu shouted. “Our honor demands we
reclaim these lands by force! We waste our time bickering here. Let us test our mettle on
the battlefeld! My ancestors scream for justice. The Crane will scatter before our mighty
roar!”

“Please calm your companion,” Asami said evenly, ignoring the bushi’s outburst. For a
moment, she thought she saw the historian smirk.

Ikoma Eiji asked, “Are you afraid of Beiona-san making good on her threats? Isn’t Doji
Kuwanan-sama posted along the front now, guarding the village of Shirei?”

Asami’s heart tightened in her chest. He could be, but she couldn’t know for sure. She
hadn’t seen him in months, and his letters had ceased since the death of his father. Had
she really been so obvious with her afections in public? Did the historian know about
them?

No. Impossible. Surely Kuwanan was posted elsewhere, safely serving in a court on his
sister’s behalf. The screen behind them slid open, and a servant entered to profer a scroll
to his master. “An urgent letter, my lord.”
The Ikoma took the scroll and dismissed the messenger. The room grew silent as he read.
“Lady Asami, it appears that our conversation is over. It is just as I feared—a band of
honorless ronin have slaughtered the Crane forces at Shirei Mura.”

Kuwanan’s body unmoving in the mud, blood and dirt dulling the brilliance of his blue-
silver armor. A hideous ronin brandishing Kuwanan’s ancestral katana in a mockery of the
Kakita family technique.

She banished the image from her mind, but her heart still beat loudly in her ears and her
cheeks scalded red. Asami instinctively raised her fan to cover her mouth and lowered it
again, in one smooth motion, as though she hadn’t tried to hide her reaction.

“This is terrible news,” she managed. Ikoma Eiji took a seat again, opened his calligraphy
set, and began to compose a letter.

The Crane Clan forces would not have fallen—not to some “band of ronin,” as the Lion
had claimed. Even if there had been ronin at the vanguard, the Lion had assuredly paid
them of, and some bannerless Lion Clan ashigaru had no doubt supported the warriors
as well.

Honor demanded that Asami believe his words, or at least act as though she did, but the
hope in her heart refused. Doji Kuwanan could not be dead. If the Crane Clan Champion
lost both her brother and her father in the same season, could she still pursue peace? Or
would she be forced to avenge her kin?

With their diplomatic leverage gone, all she could do now was pray the Crane retook the
village in time. If the Lion “overcame” the ronin frst, the Crane would be dealt a serious
blow to their case. Once again the Lion were attempting to provoke the Crane, and
whoever struck frst would lose the sympathy of the Emperor.

“Kaezin-san,” she said, standing at last, her yōjimbō rising beside her. “Let us return
home.”
Matsu Beiona’s hand moved to rest on the hilt of her katana. Kaezin took a step in front of
Asami, and she saw him discreetly unlock his sword, ready to strike at any moment.
Ikoma Eiji set down his brush and sighed. “The negotiations in Otosan Uchi have not yet
fnished, and our lord would have you remain our honored guest until everything is sorted
out.”

The historian said one thing, but Asami understood the message that lay beneath: she,
Kaezin, and their retinue were hostages. In case it fnally came to war.

“Lady Asami, you are welcome to add a few lines if you please,” he said, gesturing to the
parchment. “The Crane Clan delegation to the capital will be glad to see your calligraphy
and know that you remain safe during your time with us.”

In her writing to him, Kakita Yuri would know with certainty that she had failed him—both
as a diplomat and as a daughter.

The fnal cherry blossom broke away from the branch and drifted to the ground.
 Her Father’s Daughter

Somewhere along the Emperor's aoad...

Daidoji Nerishma peered into the gloomy undergrowth along the road as the Crane Clan
caravan he was escorting plodded along past him. Above the clomping hooves of draft
oxen and the rumbling and squeaking of wagons piled high with bags of rice, he struggled
to discern what had he seen, or heard—

Nerishma flung himself aside, the arrow that would have slammed into his face thumping,
instead, into a bale of rice. aecovering, he raised his triple-headed spear and shouted,
"Ambush! Be ready!"

aough men in shabby peasants' garb erupted from the undergrowth. Nerishma found
himself suddenly locked in melee with two—no, three—of them, who slashed at him with
peasant weapons. Frantically, he knocked aside their blows and struck back, a whirl of
dust, sweat, steel, and confusion—

Silver flashed as the long blade of a naginata slashed one of the bandits, then another,
across the throat. Nerishma gutted the third, then turned in time to see someone rush
past him in a billow of dark cloak, hood held in place with a conical, straw hat. Barely
breaking stride, the cloaked fgure—whom Nerishma vaguely recognized as another of
the caravan guards—struck down a bandit with another efortless sweep of the naginata.
A few paces, and another fell. Another.

Back along the caravan, guards slashed and stabbed at their ambushers, holding their
own, driving them back. Gripping his spear, Nerishma turned and hurried after the
cloaked fgure toward the head of the caravan, determined not to leave his benefactor to
fght alone. He caught up in time to fnd the hooded guard facing a lean man wielding the
swords of a samurai—a katana in his right hand, a wakizashi in his left. The man bore no
mon or other heraldry on his drab kimono. He was a ronin, then, and probably the leader
of this bandit pack.
Nerishma rushed to join the cloaked fgure, who was probably also a ronin, a mercenary
hired to protect the caravan. But the naginata, dripping blood, swung to block his way. At
the same time, a woman's voice shouted to the bandit leader, "This caravan rightfully
travels the Emperor's road. How dare you assault it?"

The ronin raised his swords. "These people and their families are starving. The rice in
those wagons is better flling their bellies than the Emperor's tax houses. So, they do
what they must."

"It is certainly not your place to decide such a thing. Nor is any excuse sufcient for the
crimes you have committed here today. There is only the penalty, which is death."

"Death awaits us all," he replied, taking a stance Nerishma recognized as niten, the
dualwielding sword style favored by the Dragon Clan. Nerishma again started forward,
determined to help dispatch this dishonorable dog of a ronin—and once more, the bloody
naginata moved to block him. This time, its wielder turned.

The face looking back at him from under the hood shone like alabaster, striking beauty
framed by snow-white hair. Nerishma recognized it immediately and took an astounded
step back.

It was Doji Hotaru, Champion of the Crane Clan, and his lord and master. Nerishma
instinctively began to bow, but Hotaru shook her head. "Maintain your stance, samurai-
san, and step back. I appreciate your desire to assist, but I shall deal with this myself."

"O-of course, Doji-ue. As you command."

He straightened, still eager to stand with his champion despite her command and his own
stunned amazement. Clearly she'd been with the caravan for some time now, concealing
herself in traveler's garb. But why? And why would she deign to confront this ronin cur in
any case, a man so far beneath her in the Celestial Order he might as well have been an
actual dog?

But it was not Nerishma's place to question, so he stepped back.

Hotaru turned back to the ronin and raised her naginata. The ronin bowed, and Hotaru
returned the bow. A pause, then the man launched himself at Hotaru like a leaping
tongue of flame. Hotaru jumped aside, lashing out with the much-longer naginata, forcing
the ronin to pull his strikes short. But the man recovered in an instant, dashing inside the
naginata's arc. Hotaru dodged the katana by a fnger span, but the wakizashi opened a
shallow gash on her arm.

Nerishma gasped and took an involuntary step—

Maintain your stance, samurai-san.

Nerishma teetered on a knife-edge of warring compulsions: assist his champion, or obey

her...

Gritting his teeth, he obeyed.

The ronin struck again and again, but Hotaru was as water, a flow of movement avoiding
the blows. Still, Nerishma began to despair at his champion's inability to seize the
initiative... until abruptly she did, becoming as fre, a blur of furnace rage, but channeled
by the subtlety of air. She'd been merely leading her opponent, Nerishma realized,
provoking his most devastating attacks, learning his moves and countermoves, and doing
it all in a matter of seconds that had only felt like minutes.

The ronin fell back, desperately trying to fend of the whirling naginata. Once, he found
an opening and launched himself into it—but it was a feint, leaving him unbalanced and
overextended. Hotaru slammed the naginata into his shoulder, cleaving him to the
opposite collarbone. The ronin toppled back in a shower of blood, mouth gaping, gasping
for air that would never reach his lungs. The Crane Clan Champion didn't hesitate,
swinging a blow that struck of the ronin's head.

Nerishma waited for his champion to stand down from the confrontation. Instead, she
simply stared down at her fallen opponent. Could there be a worse injury than her arm,
one he hadn't seen? He started toward Hotaru, saying, "Doji-ue, I remain at your service,
should you need—"
"No," she said, flicking the blood from her naginata, then glancing at her injury. "I have
sufered worse sparring with Toshimoko-sensei." She looked back along the caravan, then
turned to Nerishma. "The remaining bandits are fleeing. aetrieve the ronin's blades,
Daidoji-san, in case there is someone deserving of their return. Then, let us return to our
places in the caravan and wait for it to resume its way to Otosan Uchi."

Nerishma bowed. "Hai, Doji-ue."

It was not his place to question. Still, for the rest of the trip, Nerishma had to work very
hard at pretending his clan champion wasn't walking only paces away.

Her sister's apartment in the Imperial Palace ofered a breathtaking view. The gardens
below, Hotaru saw, were impeccably arranged for the season, the fuchsia glow of pink
moss a brilliant contrast to the muted cream and pale purple of wisteria. The frst roses
were coming into bloom, yellow and crimson counterpoints.

It rivaled the splendor of the gardens in the Chisei District of Otosan Uchi, where the
Crane Clan embassy stood. aivaled—but certainly didn't surpass. There: a slight
mismatch in the roses, a minor imbalance of color that would be missed by most samurai.
Such imperfection would never be tolerated in the Fantastic Gardens of Kyūden Doji. But
those were the exemplar for the Empire, always emulated but never matched, not even
here, in the Imperial City...

Kyūden Doji. Hotaru touched the windowsill, but no longer saw the gardens. Instead, she
saw the Crane Clan's ancestral seat of power, a palace of white stone and impeccable
grace perched on clifs overlooking the Sea of the Sun Goddess. Waves pounded
ceaselessly against their rocky base, a steady, booming rhythm—

The clifs from which her mother had thrown herself...the waves that had swallowed and
taken her...because her father, Doji Satsume, had driven her to it—

Hotaru's grip tightened on the sill as her thoughts changed again. Doji Satsume, who had
stubbornly kept the clan championship for years even as he held the ofce of Emerald
Champion: the Emperor's personal champion, commander of the Imperial Legions, and
most senior magistrate of aokugan. Satsume, who had only reluctantly passed the Crane
Clan championship to her at the urging of his brothers-in-law, Kakita Toshimoko and
Kakita Yoshi. Satsume, who was now dead, and just when the Empire needed its Emerald
Champion the most.

A thump from behind her. Hotaru glanced back. Framed by a pair of perfectly matched
paper shōji screens, Doji Shizue fxed her cat, Fumio, with a disapproving glare over a
scroll he'd knocked of a table. Leaning on her cane, Shizue returned the scroll to its place
and minutely adjusted an ikebana flower arrangement the cat had apparently also
disturbed. Hotaru couldn't help but smile. From the polished floor of teak from the far-of
Islands of Spice and Silk, to a matched series of sumi-e ink drawings decorating the walls,
Shizue's apartment was impeccable. There would never be mismatched rose blossoms
here.

Her cane softly tapping, Shizue hobbled over to join Hotaru at the window. "What is it you
see, Doji-ue?"

Hotaru dissembled. "Why, the gardens, of course, resplendent under Lady Sun." Feigning
disapproval, she added, "And you need not be so formal as to call me 'ue,' Sister. Not
when we are alone."

"If protocol becomes ingrained in the courts of the Crane, Doji-ue, then in this esteemed
place it becomes absolutely reflexive. In any case...is that all you see out my window?"

Her smile fading, Hotaru looked back at the gardens, but this time her gaze skipped over
them, over the palace wall and the cluttered rooftops of the city beyond, to the golden
expanse of the distant Osari Plains. She couldn't see the Crane blood spilled upon them in
her clan's ongoing feud with the Lion Clan, of course, but she knew it was there, drying
under the latespring sun.

Hotaru briefly considered just saying, "Yes, that is all," but shook her head instead. "No. I
see an Empire in turmoil."

"An attack by bandits, even one so egregiously close to the Imperial Capital, hardly
constitutes an 'Empire in turmoil.'"
Hotaru touched the sleeve of her kimono, feeling the bandage beneath a white crane
embroidered into the pale-blue silk. A Seppun shugenja had ofered to importune the
elemental water kami to speed the healing of her wound, but she'd refused. As she'd told
the Daidoji soldier who'd witnessed her battle with the ronin, she'd sufered worse injuries
sparring with Kakita Toshimoko, her uncle and boisterous old sensei, and had only ever
bandaged those as well...

The ronin. The man had been a criminal, and had earned his death.

Still.

Hotaru couldn't help but understand his motivations, at least in part. Three years ago, a
devastating tsunami had ravaged the Crane Clan's coastline, destroying some of the
clan's most fertile lands. No one knew how long it would be before the lands would again
yield rice at all, much less in the abundance for which the Crane were known. The people
were hungry, and they would only get hungrier.

Shizue frowned. "You are genuinely troubled, aren't you?"

"The ronin who led the bandits was not entirely without honor. His intent was to secure
food for his followers and their families. That is why I allowed him die as a samurai, in
combat, rather than face execution as a common criminal."

"Well, you must give me a full accounting of it all. As storyteller to the Imperial Court, I
am always eager for new tales to tell. This one will not only entertain the court but also
bolster your reputation."

"Always the storyteller," Hotaru said, shaking her head. "Anyway, yes, I agree that a
single bandit attack does not portend the doom of the Empire. But when the bandits are
peasants, simply seeking food..." She touched the bandage again. "And famine is only
one of the difculties we face. Our disagreement with the Lion over the ownership of
Toshi aanbo drags on. I must travel there soon, in fact, to evaluate the situation for
myself. To the north, the Dragon seek our help in dealing with a growing sect of dissidents
and heretics, but we have little to ofer them. To the south, the Crab are badly pressed on
the Carpenter Wall, but we have little help to ofer there, either. And with each passing
day, the Scorpion grip on the Imperial Court grows ever tighter..."

Hotaru made herself stop. "But then," she went on, "there are always problems aficting
the Empire, aren't there? Perhaps I am simply not yet used to my role as clan champion."

Hotaru swept her naginata through the fnal movements of the kata called One-Strike
Blade, then stopped, assuming a resting stance. Kakita Toshimoko nodded from where he
stood beneath a nearby sakura tree, opening his mouth to ofer...something, but Doji
Satsume spoke frst, cutting him of.

"That was very good, my daughter."

Hotaru bowed. "Thank you, Father."

"Do not thank me," Satsume said, his face stone. "Very good is merely a guest house on
the road to perfection—a place to visit briefly, not to stay. You, Hotaru, seem to have
made it your home. Someday, you will lead our clan. If that leadership is merely very
good, then you will have failed."

That had been...a year and a half ago? So, only a few months before Satsume had
stepped down as clan champion, elevating Hotaru in his place. She had never heard him
comment on the quality of her leadership of the Crane since, not even to say if it was
very good.

And now he was dead.

Shizue leaned on her cane. "If I may be so bold," Shizue said, "I would agree that your
newness to the position may be an issue. Take your arrival here. As exciting as it turned
out, why in the world were you traveling with that caravan in the frst place, rather than
with the ofcial entourage to which you are due? And in secret, at that?"

"Thanks to the bandits, it is not much of a secret now, is it?" Hotaru said, waving a
dismissive hand. "I simply wished to arrive in Otosan Uchi discreetly, to gain some time to
learn what I could about Satsume's death before the inevitable fanfare caught up with
me."

"A bold, even rash thing to do—certainly not something Father would have done. Which is
why I suspect you attempted it."

Hotaru just looked out the window.

"Well," Shizue went on, "you would have just run headlong into the Emerald Magistrates
and their investigation regardless. The death of the Emerald Champion is no small
matter."

"Perhaps, but it does not matter now, does it? I have no choice now but to accept
whatever the ofcial sources are prepared to share."

Shizue snifed and made a fractional adjustment to another ikebana arrangement, this
one near the window. "There are still somewhat less-than-ofcial sources available, one of
whom is standing right in front of you. The most important skill of a storyteller is the
ability to listen, after all."

"Very well. What has this less-than-ofcial source heard?"

"That Satsume's death remains a complete mystery. He appears to have simply...died.

That has, of course, led to all sorts of speculation among the rumormongers."

"Such as?"

"Some say the Fortunes simply decreed it was his time to return to the Karmic Wheel.
Others suggest more...nefarious causes."

Hotaru narrowed her eyes. "This is not one of your stories, Shizue. The dramatic flair is
unnecessary."

Shizue smiled and minutely adjusted the ikebana again. "Something else that has
become ingrained, I'm afraid. Anyway, some suggest his death was neither natural nor
accidental, and that now the Emerald Championship is available for those who might
covet it."

"If that is the fnding of the magistrates, then a price will be demanded in blood."

"Not least by our brother."

Hotaru sighed. "Indeed. Kuwanan-kun certainly has not felt the need to wait for the
magistrates' fndings. He is already demanding blood in the name of our clan's honor."

Shizue leaned on her cane. "Lord Satsume was his—our—father. I suspect family honor
also fuels his outrage." She cocked her head. "As I would expect it does yours?"

Hotaru turned back to the window. "The death of Doji Satsume, Emerald Champion, is
indeed a grave matter. His death is a great loss to the Empire. And if it does turn out he
was murdered, then yes, there will be blood—a great deal of it. Perhaps there will even be
war." She looked down into the garden. "The death of Doji Satsume, our father,
however..." She paused, her gaze on a koi pond surrounded by colorful hibiscus. "Perhaps
that is simply justice fnally done."

A long moment passed. Finally, Shizue said, "Our mother's death was, in the end, her own
choice—"

"A choice she never should have been forced to make," Hotaru snapped, turning. "Father
might as well have pushed her of that clif himself—"

A soft tap at the door interrupted her. Shizue gave Hotaru a puzzled look, then hobbled
past the shōji screens to the door. She opened it to see a servant who immediately bowed
to the floor, then moved aside, letting someone else enter. Hotaru's breath caught as she
recognized the new arrival. Bayushi Kachiko, Imperial Advisor of aokugan—

—and the most beautiful woman in the Empire.

Fighting the desire to smile, to rush at Kachiko and embrace her, Hotaru simply bowed.
So did Shizue, but more deeply, as beft her status relative to that of the woman who
advised the Emperor himself. At the same time, both automatically assumed a perfect
façade of formality.

"Bayushi Kachiko-dono," Hotaru said. "What a pleasant surprise. To what do we owe the
honor of a visit from the esteemed Imperial Advisor?"

Kachiko, a crimson and black study in sinuous charm, returned their bows. "How could I
not pay my respects to the honored Champion of the Crane Clan upon her arrival in the
Imperial Capital?" Pausing to admire one of Shizue's ikebana arrangements, she let her
fngers brush a sprig of gardenia, whose meaning in hanakotoba, the language of flowers,
was "secret love." "It would appear, however, that there has been a signifcant breach of
protocol, for which I must profusely apologize on behalf of the Imperial Court. We were
given no proper notifcation of your coming to Otosan Uchi, much less of your having
actually arrived."

"It is not a matter of concern," Hotaru said.

Kachiko's eyes glinted through the minimal mask that framed them, leaving the rest of
her features, as fne as delicate porcelain, exposed. "Nonsense. aest assured that
appropriate corrective action will be taken so that, in the future, you shall receive the
recognition to which a clan champion is entitled."

Each of the Scorpion's movements was deliberate and calculated even as she spoke.
From a kimono slit to reveal almost scandalous glimpses of her legs as she walked, to a
head tilted just enough to expose a barely appropriate amount of shoulder, Bayushi
Kachiko was all about efect—and that efect was the seductive promise of more.

Hotaru glanced at her sister. "Shizue-san, if I may presume upon your hospitality, would
you allow us the use of your apartments for a brief time?"

"Of course, Doji-ue. It gives me an excuse to enjoy the gardens before the setting of Lady
Sun. Fumio-chan, do not give our guests any trouble."

The cat blinked back at Shizue, then knocked a writing brush onto the floor.
Shizue sighed, then bowed, turned, and walked out of the room, sliding the door closed
behind her.

Hotaru and Kachiko maintained their air of courtly propriety for a moment after Shizue
had gone, then broke into warm smiles. Kachiko stepped forward, taking Hotaru's hands
in hers and opening her mouth to speak. Before she could, though, Hotaru pulled her
closer, meaning to kiss her...

She hesitated at a stray thought—of her husband, now on his way to Shizuka Toshi to
learn what he could about a recent attack by pirates and about the man, Yoritomo, who
led them. Stopping herself, Hotaru simply looked into Kachiko's dark eyes instead.

A silent moment passed. My heart, Hotaru thought. ...surely, Kachiko can hear it beating,
so hard and quickly. Kachiko fnally broke the silence.

"So, Hotaru, what is the meaning of sneaking into the city, truly?" Kachiko put on an
exaggerated look of mock suspicion. "Were you trying to avoid me?"

"Of course not. I merely was hoping to have some time to myself, before all of the
inevitable ceremony wrapped around me like sufocating silk."

Kachiko released Hotaru's hands. "And why would you do that?"

It was Hotaru's turn to be mischievous. Ofering a coy smile, she said, "Well, perhaps,
rather than trying to avoid you, I wanted some quiet time to spend with you."

An eyebrow lifted over the top of Kachiko's mask. "That can certainly be arranged. In fact,
you must allow me to host you this evening. I have just procured some sake from ayokō
Owari Toshi that will make even one so discerning as the leader of the Crane Clan
jealous."

"I look forward to it."

A moment passed, and then Kachiko drew back, her manner becoming more formal.
"While it flatters me to think you were skulking your way into Otosan Uchi just to spend
some time with me, that is not the reason for your somewhat...unwarranted discretion, is
it? I think you were hoping to take advantage of the relative anonymity, however brief, to
learn some unornamented truths about Lord Satsume's death."

"An obvious plan, then...and apparently not a very good one."

"On the contrary. Had you not involved yourself in an unseemly fght with bandits on the
road, you might have gotten away with it."

Hotaru gave Kachiko, the woman known as the Mistress of Secrets, a wry look. "aeally?"

"For a time. I may eventually come to know everything of note that goes on in this city,
but eventually isn't instantly." Kachiko's expression became grave. "As for Lord
Satsume...you have my deepest condolences, Hotaru. He was a great man, and an
honored and loyal servant of the Empire. He will be missed."

Hotaru wanted to appear—to be—appropriately grief stricken, but she could only see the
clifs near Kyūden Doji. "He will be missed," was all she fnally managed to say.

Kachiko's eyes narrowed at Hotaru's flat tone. "I am no stranger to problematic

relationships with one's father...but if I may be presumptuous, Lord Satsume is dead,
Hotaru. I would hate to see your bitterness toward him outlive him, at least for very long."

Hotaru looked at one of Shizue's shōji screens, depicting mountains stark against a red
sunset. "I do not deny my bitterness. But it is more than that. The circumstances around
his death are...troubling."

"Ah...yes. I understand that the Emerald Magistrates continue their investigation. Perhaps
the secrecy of your arrival had some beneft after all, and you have heard something I
have not?"

Hotaru turned her gaze on Fumio the cat, who'd settled himself onto a tatami mat near
the ink brush he'd vanquished. Were this not Bayushi Kachiko, Hotaru might have thought
she was actually concerned she had missed something...or that she might even be
worried something was in the process of being discovered that wasn't meant to be. But
this was Kachiko, so it was inconceivable that she wouldn't know exactly what the
Emerald Magistrates had found so far.

...some suggest that his death was neither natural nor accidental, and that now the
Emerald Championship is available for those who might covet it.

Kachiko's brother, Hametsu, daimyō of the Shosuro family, was reputed to be a master of
poisons, more than capable of making it appear that someone had simply...died. And
while there was little love lost between him and Kachiko, that they were both loyal to
their clan was beyond question.

...with each passing day, the Scorpion grip on the Imperial Court grows ever tighter...

Hotaru looked up from the cat to fnd Kachiko watching her.

"No," Hotaru fnally said. "I have heard nothing, aside from stray bits of gossip. Like
everyone else, I can only wait for the Emerald Magistrates to complete their
investigation."

A pause; then, Kachiko nodded. "Of course. In the meantime, do you intend to remain in
the capital?"

"For the time being. There is a funeral to prepare. I had originally thought to have it at
Kyūden Doji, but I think it would be more appropriate for it to be here, in Otosan Uchi."

"An appropriate choice indeed. If there is anything I can do to assist, you need but ask."

Hotaru took Kachiko's hand in hers. "Thank you. That means a great deal to me."

Kachiko placed her other hand over Hotaru's. "Now, I would love to stay, but I am afraid I
have matters of court to attend to. I do expect to see you this evening, though."

Hotaru wanted nothing more than to be with Kachiko now, but she simply nodded. "Of
course."
"Then I shall send a servant with the details. Until then..." Kachiko held Hotaru's hand in
hers a moment longer, then released it and turned to the door. She and Hotaru
exchanged appropriate bows, and then she was gone.

For a while, Hotaru simply stared at the door.

Eventually, she turned and walked back to the window. The play of light and shadow in
the garden had changed with the movement of Lady Sun, making it seem a completely
diferent place. Again, though, her gaze was drawn beyond it, to the horizon. aice felds,
fallow and empty...blood upon the Osari Plains...darkness pounding at the Carpenter
Wall...heresy and sedition...

If aokugan was the Emerald Empire, then the emerald was flawed—small cracks
threatening to lengthen, to widen, to cause the whole of it to crumble to fragments and
dust.
 The Price of War

Some weeks later, in contested territory...

Matsu Tsuko crouched within a thick copse of trees, waiting in ambush with nearly a
dozen other units of Lion Clan samurai. The dense foliage hushed the screams and steel
clanging of the fghting below, but nothing could rid the air of the raw-iron smell of blood.
The scent tickled her into a fury, her legs itching to spring, to attack. She eyed her
commander, Akodo Toturi, but the smoothness of his face betrayed no hint of his strategy
as he watched the battle from afar.

What is the fool waiting for?

Tsuko's contingent had arrived nearly an hour ago, ready to reinforce the dwindling forces
of Akodo Arasou, the Lion Clan Champion, in the territory dispute with the Crane Clan. In
an act of insolence, the Crane had bolstered their occupying forces in Toshi aanbo, the
northernmost Lion city, to force a Lion army away from the contested grain-laden Osari
Plains in the south. Arasou had been campaigning at the foot of the city for several
weeks, building siege weapons, and needing reinforcements only to make his fnal push
to retake the city and ensure the Crane could not use it as a staging ground against
them. Arasou's older brother, Toturi, had been summoned from the monastery to answer
that call for aid...yet...

Why does he hesitate?

A small Crane contingent sped past their hiding place, bearing torches, intending to
sneak behind Arasou's forces and set fre to their battering rams. She clutched her katana
and waited for Toturi's golden signal fan to herald the charge. However, he remained still.

"What are we waiting for?" Tsuko hissed, the heat of her blood curling her fngers tighter
around her katana until her fst shook. "The Crane are right there!"

Toturi did not answer, merely lifting his fan parallel to the earth, the sign to wait. Tsuko
turned away in disgust, shifting her attention to her comrades-in-arms, their anticipation
as palpable as her own. Down the line, Matsu Gohei grinned, unnervingly jovial in the
face of danger as ever. Just behind her, Kitsu Motso's boots creaked as he fdgeted, likely
attempting to fgure out what Toturi was thinking.

As if thinking works. She glared at Toturi again. Weakling. Arasou wouldn't wait on a sly
calculation. Victory is only moments away!

Tsuko strained to see Arasou in the faraway skirmish. The fery gold glint of Arasou's
helmet caught her eye as he sliced through a Crane ashigaru in a single stroke. The
Crane's shoulder and head parted, and Arasou powered through the gap straight into
another Crane warrior, smashing into his face with a ferce blow and bellowing in a
ferocious battle cry. Tsuko's place was by his side, fghting toward victory, not hiding in a
thicket like a shy mule with a cowardly master.

Despite Arasou's ferocity, the torch-bearing Crane had proved enough of a distraction to
pull the Lion from the city's walls. In that moment, a deluge of Crane spearmen poured
through the gates, crashing into the forces at Arasou's back like a blue wave over golden
sand. Screams shook the sky as the spear line slammed into the Lion troops, dividing
them from their battering rams. Arasou signaled for a regrouping retreat, and the Lion
samurai fell back, running past the trees of Toturi's hiding place with the Crane spearmen
in furious pursuit.

"Toturi!" Tsuko hissed as the Lion and Crane armies passed by, but Toturi still did not
flinch, merely watching. She raised an arm as if to strike him, but Motso snatched at her
elbow.

"Patience, Tsuko-sama!" Motso muttered, struggling to keep his grip on her arm as she
wrenched it from his grasp. "Our commander is waiting for the Crane momentum to
swing past recovery!"

Suddenly, Toturi flicked his fan, signaling the charge. Battle cries rang from the forest as
the Lion reinforcements burst from the trees, fnally joining the fray. They caught the
Crane in a tight pincer attack as Arasou, seeing the fresh Lion troops, pressed his forces
hard in retaliation. Tsuko cut her way through the battle to where Arasou slashed through
three Crane ashigaru, making short work of them despite his battle fatigue.
"You are late," he boomed to Tsuko, smiling, Crane blood and dust spattered all over his
handsome face. He spun with dexterous footwork to counter a nimble Crane samurai's
slash at his throat, fnishing him with a swift strike.

"Your brother was hesitating," she yelled over the clashing steel, deftly slicing through a
Crane samurai who stumbled too close to her. The body fell with a heavy crunch, and she
leaped over him toward a Crane who danced around Motso, threatening to take of his
head with her graceful kata. Tsuko crashed into her, disrupting the pretentious fluidity of
the Crane fghting style and landing a killing blow.

"Toturi-kun thinks too much!" Arasou laughed, leaping forward to meet two more Crane
ashigaru in their frantic attempts to regain the upper hand. "I always tell him that!"

"That's why you're clan champion instead of him!" she called back, turning to face a spry
Crane samurai in blue-lacquered armor. Tsuko charged, challenging the graceful agility of
the Crane with a violent thrust. Despite Tsuko's superior strength, the Crane's deft spins
and parries deflected all the blows away, and his armor mitigated the power of her
strokes. A quick cut sliced across her arm, her shoulder, her side, her face, but she smiled
despite the pain.

We are the teeth of the Lion!

Tsuko hurtled forward to crowd her opponent's defensive stance, overpowering it with
brute ferocity. With a loud cry, Tsuko slashed at a weak spot at his throat, and he fell to
the ground.

Drum beats sounded from atop the walls of Toshi aanbo, and the Crane responded with a
retreat. Tsuko wheeled around to fnd Arasou again, ready for orders of pursuit, but Toturi
had gotten to his brother frst. Tsuko ran to catch the last of their exchange.

"...siege would be better," Toturi insisted, again the calmness of his face clashing with the
violence of the scene. "If we take the city by force..."
"So you admit that should we pursue, we would take it?" Arasou said, his handsome brow
furrowing. "The odds are now on our side! Thanks to that pincer attack, we have seriously
depleted their forces. All we need to do is push! The gates are open! Today we regain
what is rightfully ours!"

Toturi's mouth twisted in seriousness, and he stretched to his full height as if trying to
play the older brother. "Taking it by force could spark all-out war with the Crane and turn
the Emperor's favor against us. Through siege, we can hope the Crane will surrender to
save face and avoid a slaughter."

Tsuko pounced forward. "Hope for surrender? What kind of Lion are you?" she snarled.
"Trust your instincts, Arasou-sama. aemember, 'Those who attack frst shall win.' That is
our path to victory. A siege has no glory, and hope cannot win us the city."

Arasou locked eyes with Tsuko, pride blazing in his gaze. He smiled. Her heart burned.
"Lady Tsuko agrees with me, Toturi-san. With her advice, I shall lead our fnal charge
toward the city. Toshi aanbo will be ours!"

With a powerful arm, he signaled his banners. The Lion forces, united under their
champion, fell into disciplined ranks, ready for the charge. Tsuko and Toturi joined the
lines on either side of Arasou.

"To victory!" he shouted, taking a last look at Toturi, then at Tsuko, before charging after
the retreating Crane.

Tsuko raced toward Toshi aanbo, her heart swelling as her brothers and sisters of the Lion
rushed to overtake the foe. Arasou and his elite swordsmen bounded toward the Crane in
ferce strides, overtaking the frst of their prey in moments. With a mighty leap, he
crashed down upon the back of a large Crane spearman, knocking him to the ground. He
tumbled forward to knock the legs out from under another retreating Crane before
springing into the air to again smash down upon another.

Tsuko veered to the right to cut her own path toward Toshi aanbo's gates. She stabbed at
one Crane, who tripped another with his falling body. Tsuko hurled herself at them,
fnishing them quickly. Her katana lodged deep in the lacquered folds of a breastplate, so
she kicked at it to wrench her sword free. She regained her pace.

Just three hundred more paces to the gate! Victory is upon us!

A flash of blue and white emerged from Toshi aanbo. Doji Hotaru, the Crane Clan
Champion, appeared with a small body of archers to provide cover fre for the fleeing
Crane. They let fly a volley, raining death down upon the gaining Lion. Two zipped past
Tsuko's face, so she darted toward the gate to fnd shelter from the hail of arrows. She
leaped over several mangled Crane bodies that marked Arasou's ferocious path ahead of
her. She managed a glimpse of the top of his shining helmet.

Tsuko sped forward to catch up to him. She could hear his battle cries, which swelled with
the passion of battle. He raged through the Crane ranks, slashing through blue bodies on
either side of him, leaves before a tempest. He was a mere two hundred paces from the
gate. Tsuko could see Hotaru's face contorted in fear as the raging force approached. The
Crane Champion's eyes glistened with tears.

"Victory!" Tsuko cried. "Arasou, lead us to victory!"

As Tsuko drew closer, however, the look on Hotaru's face became clear. It was not fear: it
was sorrow.

The Crane Clan Champion drew back her bowstring in a long, graceful pull and let an
arrow fly. Her bolt sped like lightning straight into Arasou's chest. The Lion Clan Champion
didn't break pace. Tsuko shoved through the throng, trying to clear a path to Arasou, but
a few dozen Crane ashigaru still crowded the way, ramming her in all directions. She
dropped her katana and pushed back against the bodies.

Another arrow flew from Hotaru's bow. The arrowhead slammed through the back of
Arasou's helmet with a sickening snap. His momentum slowed, and he tumbled forward
onto the earth.

Tsuko screamed, but she could not hear the sound. Silence shuddered through her body,
her stomach, her throat, her heart. Numbness spread down her limbs. Her legs shook,
barely holding her up as she stumbled. Eventually, after an eternal moment, she stood
over what was once the greatest samurai in the Lion Clan. She fell to her knees, choking
as her lungs stifened, every part of her trembling in disbelief.

No!

She clutched at his shoulder, her hands trembling too fercely to lift him.

This is a dream! A nightmare!

Toturi rushed to her side and heaved Arasou over. Hotaru's arrow stuck out of his eye,
reddish water welling up its shaft, spilling into the other clear, open eye that saw nothing.

Shivering, Tsuko turned from Arasou's dead gaze to Toturi, but he did not notice her. With
his jaw clenched, the only sign of his pain, he stared at Hotaru. The white-haired samurai
wiped away her tears before fleeing with the remaining Crane back into Toshi aanbo, the
gates closing behind them.

The silence broke. The chaos of the battlefeld flooded back over Tsuko—moans of the
wounded and dying, crimson spattering blue and brown alike.

Motso approached, Arasou's fallen katana in hand. Crane blood still dripped from its
blade, staining Arasou's golden armor.

"Lord Toturi," Motso whispered, his gentle voice cracking. He turned the ancestral hilt
toward the bereaved brother. "As oldest living heir of Akodo One-Eye, you are now clan
champion."

Tsuko shut her eyes and blindly reached out to grasp Arasou's gloved hand. It was still
hot.

"War!" Tsuko roared, slamming her fst onto the table, scattering maps and troop markers
onto the ground.
Toturi clenched his teeth, reading the faces of the other Lion Clan samurai assembled in
the war pavilion like a tragic story. Their faces flickered in the frelight, sorrow deepening
the lines of their frowns. Kitsu Motso fdgeted, unable to make eye contact with Tsuko or
Toturi. Matsu Agetoki's wrinkled mouth lengthened into a grimace. Toturi turned back to
Tsuko. Hers was the only face that wore rage—pure, seething rage.

"War against the Crane!" Tsuko repeated, the harshness of her voice slamming into the
others as though to batter them into submission. "Today's losses should not go
unpunished! It is an insult to our clan. It's—"

"The price of battle!" Agetoki growled. The old Lion glared at her. "Our clan above all
should know this price and the further cost we would pay for all-out war with the Crane!"

"The Emperor will not look kindly on an illegal declaration," Motso mumbled. "Arasou
chose to attack the Crane. The Crane can claim they were defending themselves, so we
cannot seek immediate vengeance for our champion's death. We must go through the
proper channels."

"More waiting?" Tsuko spat. "Toturi, stop behaving as a simpering child and act! Seek
retribution! aeclaim Toshi aanbo, the Osari Plains, and more from those thieving
murderers. Make them cower for their insults! Think of our clan's honor! You are clan
champion now. What will you do?"

Their stares demanded an answer. He was now champion, he whom his clan had once
passed over for his younger, stronger, more powerful brother, Arasou.

What will I do?

A thousand pathways opened up before him. Choices. So many choices.

Arasou. Death. The Emperor. The Empire. Hotaru.

Each road through his mind branched a dozen ways like a river, like a bursting star. He
followed each strand in an instant, discovering the plots, gauging the people and their
actions, inserting uncertain fgures, each dangerous, each a risk.
aevenge. War.

He began counting the bodies, the true costs it would demand.

"Damn you, Toturi!" Tsuko yelled, scattering his thoughts. "You coward! You are not
worthy of leading as champion! You were passed over for your lack of martial skill. You
are a mockery of our ways!"

"Silence, Tsuko-sama!" Agetoki thundered, his hand snapping to his katana. "Your
insubordination is a grievous error in discipline! Akodo-ue is now in command, and—"

"Stop!" Toturi shouted, towering over the Lion samurai before him. His brow wrinkled in
seriousness, but he set a calm hand upon the table. "Agetoki-san, I thank you for
upholding our ways—discipline, honor, and decorum—but Lion voices shall never be
silenced. Tsuko-san has a right to speak, especially in this time of grief and heartbreak."

Tsuko's eyes narrowed in steely wrath. "How dare you!" she whispered, her voice sharp
like a knife. She marched out of the pavilion.

Agetoki shook his head in shame, lowering his hand from his sword. "Fool. Lady Tsuko's
ways are unbecoming of the Matsu family daimyō."

"Agetoki-san," Toturi replied. "You know well that the Matsu are born and bred to fght for
any cause they fnd just. Do not hold this against her. As an Akodo, I must take the
responsibility to lead even the wildest."

He turned from the council to stare into the fre, hoping it would illumine the correct path
through the labyrinth of his thoughts. But the signposts were illegible in the darkness.

Finally, he spoke. "I shall not make decisions until I have spoken to the clan generals and
the other family daimyō. I will also seek counsel from the Emperor. Send messengers to
the palace in Otosan Uchi, informing him of my brother's death. Motso-sama, you will ride
to Yōjin no Shiro and prepare the funeral rites for Arasou-sama. I will have Tsuko-sama
follow to deliver the body."
"She will not want to go," Motso said.

"Duty rides before us," Toturi said, lowering his head in reverence. "He was her betrothed,
and this is her last obligation to him."

Motso bowed and left the tent.

Agetoki remained a moment, standing by the door, a full head and shoulders shorter than
his new champion but still straight and proud in his carriage. "Akodo-ue," he said, resting
a strong, calloused hand on his shoulder. "Your time has come. You know the Akodo ways,
but a lion is more than his roar, more than his mane, more than his teeth, more than his
heart. A lion is all of these. Tsuko-sama was right to ask what you will do, because now all
of the Lion Clan families look to you to act as one."

Toturi nodded. "I'm afraid, with my brother's loss, a schism is inevitable. Tsuko-san's rage
will poison many against me."

"And as clan champion, you must not let that divide us."

"Never."

Agetoki bowed and vanished into the night.

Toturi wandered back to the fallen maps and troop markers. He picked them up in several
armfuls and set them back on the table in a heap. A wooden lion fgurine had a leg
broken of.

This is a mess, isn't it? He picked up the fgure and touched the amputated stump. My
mess. Toturi spied the map of Toshi aanbo on top of the pile, the paper crumpled into
crooked plains and false mountains. Once again, the threads of pathways started to
appear. He could see Tsuko's rage swerving of into the distance toward an avenger's fre.
He saw the Emperor's polite, bloodless answer to the news of Arasou's death.

Hotaru-san killed my brother today.

Those words burst unexpectedly from a thick dam in his mind. With a gasp, Toturi crushed
the lion fgure to splinters and squeezed until his fngers were numb. Slowly, he opened
his palm, and there lay the lifeless, wooden lion. Drops of blood welled around the bone-
like slivers where they had pierced his skin.

My brother...Arasou...

A rustling at the door roused him. Toturi turned to see Motso standing there. "A message,
Akodo-ue" he said, a little winded, as if he had just run across the camp. "From Champion
Doji Hotaru."

He held out a delicate white scroll with a silvery seal upon it. Toturi took it and nodded
before Motso bowed and ran out. The paper was scented with plum blossom, symbolizing
all at once perseverance, hope, and the transitoriness of life. Elegant calligraphy curled
over its surface: "To the Lion Clan Champion, Akodo Toturi."

He broke the seal.

"Akodo Toturi, brother-in-arms, friend of my heart, and now Lion Clan Champion, I write in
the heat of this sorrowful night as the sun sets upon an era for your clan. Akodo Arasou-
dono was the best of your clan, a noble warrior whose life called down the pride of your
ancestors from the Heavens. He was an admirable foe, and..."

The flowery Crane diplomacy and social obligation melted in a pause of the brushstrokes.

"...I know you are too strong of soul to admit your pain. However, if my own soul can
hardly fathom the horror of what occurred today, I know that somewhere in you, this
same sentiment lurks, this anguish, this blackness.

I can ofer no consolation that will bridge this abyss. I can make no reparations for what I
have taken. Yet, you are now clan champion, and what you do will not only speak for the
Akodo in your brother's memory but also speak for your clan.
I know you to be level-headed, wise, and honorable, so I trust that you will take the best
course of action; yet, though we have been friends many years, I can hardly guess what
that will be. I write to ask. Toturi-san, what will you do?

Loyally, faithfully, your comrade of old and fellow servant to the Emperor, Doji Hotaru."

Toturi shut his eyes.

Hotaru killed my brother.

He sank to the floor, dropping the bloodied Lion fgure and Hotaru's letter, lowering his
head into his hands as the scene played over and over before him.

Two arrows. The broken body. Hotaru's tears. Tsuko's heart. Arasou, why did you not
listen? Why did you leave me with this mess?

What will you do? They had all asked—Tsuko, Agetoki, and even Hotaru.

What will I do?

A writhing chaos rose before him, again bursting in a snaking multiplicity of pathways,
each needing to be followed. Twisted knots of actions to take, the inevitable cry for
revenge, the threat of war, Arasou's goals and victories cut short in a thousand bleeding
dead ends all twisted around choices Toturi dared not make. The trails bled together into
a deep ocean and crashed around him. He pressed his heart with his bleeding hand.

Arasou's voice, echoing deep from a memory, cut through the confusion. "Brother, you
think too much." The image his brother's strong face loomed before him, his eye now
missing like that of Akodo One-Eye, smiling. "You think too much."

"I know!" Toturi responded aloud. He ground his fsts into the earth. "That is why you were
chosen! Not me. You were the man of action. You were the one who could do everything!"

Silence answered him, the silence of the dead. Arasou would never answer him again,
and in that silence, Toturi felt a pause in which the universe waited for him to act.
What will I do?

Toturi opened his eyes. On the far side of the tent, rising above the broken lion fgurine on
the floor, the Lion Clan mon flapped in a gentle breeze, golden and glowing in the frelight
in ferce splendor.
 The aising Wave

Meanwhile, in the northernmost mountains of aokugan...

A more cautious man—or one with less cause—would not have attempted to leave Shiro
Mirumoto so early in the season. Even by Dragon Clan standards, the winter had been a
harsh one, and although its grip was loosening, it had yet to let go. Snow still towered in
heaps where heimin laborers had shoveled it out of the town streets, and at night the
cleared ground became a tiny replica of the mountains, the mud frozen into stone-hard
peaks and valleys.

Mirumoto Masashige would have preferred to wait another week, or even two, before
setting forth on his journey. Not for his own sake—though as the years passed, his joints
objected to the cold more and more—but for the sake of his followers. He risked their
safety by traveling so soon after the equinox, and he knew it.

But delay would only risk greater trouble for the clan as a whole. And Masashige knew
that if he were to ask, the men and women of his retinue would insist on leaving as soon
as he required, even if that meant riding into the teeth of a blizzard.

He would never insult their honor by asking. So, they mounted up in the courtyard of the
castle and headed out into the bustle of the town, down the main street toward the gate:
seven bushi and their ashigaru, townspeople scattering out of their way as they swept
through. It would be enough, Masashige hoped, to ensure a quiet journey to the west and
north. Even in the best of times, the Dragon mountains were not the peaceful felds of the
Crane, and after such a hard winter, he had to take precautions.

With his thoughts on the hazards of the journey ahead, he did not see the hazard in front
of him until it was almost too late.

Masashige hauled desperately on the reins. His gelding reared, shrieking, and skidded
sideways, one hoof slipping in the mud. Masashige threw himself clear and rolled,
knowing that if he did not, the horse would land on his leg and break it. The equine
scream that overlaid the clatter of his armor told him his gelding had not been so lucky.
But the child—

Before he even regained his feet, Masashige looked for the child he had almost trampled.
He found her kneeling in abject apology at the side of the street. A girl, perhaps twelve
years old, dressed in the simple kimono and hakama of a bushi trainee. She pressed her
forehead to the ice-slicked mud. "Mirumoto-ue, please forgive this careless one!"

Masashige pulled her upright, scanning her for injuries. "You are unhurt?"

"Yes, my lord. I have no excuse for my carelessness—forgive me!"

aelief turned his bones to water. If I had hurt a child...

"My lord!" His hatamoto, Mirumoto Hitomi, stood over his fallen horse. "aakusetsu is
badly injured. I don't know if he can be saved."

Masashige would have sacrifced a dozen horses to save this child's life. Whatever issue
plagued the Dragon, whatever ofense they had given to the Fortune of Fertility, it only
afected people, not the animals of their lands. Horses and wolves and bears thrived,
while humans dwindled with every passing year. The problem had crept up on them for a
century or more, before the sharp minds of the Kitsuki family noticed it; by now, it was
undeniable. The Dragon were not having enough children.

And among the samurai class, the problem had become desperate enough that the
Dragon had resorted to desperate measures. The girl Masashige had just saved—was she
born to a samurai family? Or was she originally a peasant, identifed by some Agasha
shugenja as possessing enough spiritual merit to be taken in and given the rearing, the
training, the identity of a samurai?

There was no way for him to tell by looking. In truth, Masashige did not want to know. He
collected his wits and his dignity, stepping back to a more respectable distance.
Addressing the girl, he said, "You must show more caution in the future. A bushi does not
fear danger, but she must be alert to its presence."
The girl knelt once more in the mud of the thaw. "Hai, Mirumoto-ue."

"Go," Masashige said. Only after she had departed did he turn back to Hitomi and his
horse. A quick examination told him the truth. Even the most talented horse doctor could
not save his gelding; the healing would be too slow, even with a sling to hold aakusetsu's
weight of his bad leg, and he would never be ft to ride again. Only the prayers of a
shugenja might restore his mount, and Masashige was loathe to beg the kami for their
blessings in so minor a matter. Not when the Heavens themselves seemed to be
condemning the Dragon for some unknown sin.

He did the necessary work himself, cutting aakusetsu's throat so the gelding would not
sufer. Afterward, Hitomi cleaned his knife while Masashige stepped into a nearby temple.
He poured a dipper of water from the fountain over his hands and shaved head, then
sought out a monk to take the impurity of death from him with a paper wand. By the time
he emerged, one of his bushi had gone back to the castle and returned with a fresh
horse.

Then he mounted up once more. Outside the walls of Shiro Mirumoto, trouble was stirring.
He needed to speak to the clan champion before it was too late.

The loss of Masashige's gelding had unsettled his followers. None of them spoke of it
openly, but he saw the efects in the frequency with which they prayed or paused to
make oferings at roadside shrines. An unpleasant omen to start their journey—and when
they reached Tall Pine Village, they found another.

"Where did the tree go?" Hitomi asked abruptly, breaking the silence that had lasted for
most of the afternoon. The pine had stood atop a ridge east of the village, alone in its
splendor, visible for miles around. Now the ridge stood bare. Squinting, Masashige could
just make out a broken stump, jagged and black. Uneasy murmurs rose behind him, then
fell into silence.

They passed the remnants of the tree not long before sunset. A winter storm must have
blown it down, and the local heimin had chopped away a large portion of the trunk.
Masashige instructed his clerk, Kobori Sozan, to make a note of that and inquire whether
the peasants had received permission from their overseer to burn the material as
frewood. By law, large trees such as this one were the property of the local daimyō, for
use in construction—but that didn't stop heimin from taking the wood for their own use.
And in a winter as bitter as this one had been, he doubted they would have hesitated to
do so.

Tall Pine Village was a small place, signifcant only because it served as a way station for
travelers. Judging by what they found there, Masashige and his retinue were the frst
people to come through since the thaw began. Their chambers were unprepared, the
tatami musty and damp, and the food served up was winter's leavings, coarse grains
boiled with burdock root.

"Why no rice?" Hitomi demanded.

The headman, Sanjirō, bowed low. Hitomi was a tall woman, and although she was
slender beneath her armor, every bit of her was muscle. She could snap the headman in
two without resorting to her sword. "Please forgive our humble village, Mirumoto-sama,"
he said. "Vermin broke into our stores last fall; what rice they did not eat was badly
fouled. We kept this grain for you, but it is nearly the last we have."

Hitomi scowled, but when she looked to Masashige, he stopped her with a tiny shake of
his head. Sanjirō had been the headman of Tall Pine Village for over a decade. He was not
the sort to gorge his people on stolen rice and lie to a daimyō about it. No, the village's
misfortunes were just another sign of the Heavens' displeasure.

"Fit to make a Crane faint," Hitomi muttered, but after that she subsided. The Dragon
were no strangers to hardship, and by this point in the season the meals in Shiro
Mirumoto were not substantially better. Only with the thaw would things improve.

The thaw, and the favor of Tengoku. Masashige could only hope to hasten one of them. In
so small a village, with the weather still so bitter, there was little in the way of diversion
after the meal ended. His bushi sat shoulder to shoulder around the brazier, keeping the
heat within the ring of their bodies and talking quietly among themselves. Masashige
slipped outside to deal with necessities, watching his breath fog the air in the moonlight.
In the softer lands to the south, cherry blossoms would already be blooming.
The cold, still air carried sound with perfect clarity. Not far away, in the hut where
Sanjirō's wife, Yuki, had prepared their meal, he heard a woman's voice murmuring,
"Shoshi ni kie. Shoshi ni kie. Shoshi ni kie."

Masashige's blood ran colder than the wind. Devotion to the Little Teacher—or, if written
with a diferent character, absolute trust in the Little Teacher.

It was the mantra of the Perfect Land Sect.

The Perfect Land—here, in Tall Pine Village. The sect had flourished for years in the
hinterlands of Dragon territory, in the villages too small to have names, so small they
were lucky if they saw a monk from the Brotherhood of Shinsei twice a year. People living
in those isolated valleys developed many strange customs, and they gladly latched onto
a theology that told them they did not have to learn any difcult practices or cultivate
merit within themselves; they only had to call on Shinsei, the Little Teacher, to be freed
from the cycle of rebirth.

Of course it appealed to peasants, who lacked the time and education to devote
themselves to the requirements of the Brotherhood. Three simple words, and Shinsei
would save them. The practice was controversial at best; the Phoenix had outlawed the
kie entirely, visiting harsh punishments on anyone, monk or peasant or even samurai,
found chanting that phrase. They said it was heresy—a false path, not a genuine route to
enlightenment.

Masashige was no religious scholar. He understood very little of the theological debate
over the kie and its efcacy or lack thereof. He knew only that followers of the Perfect
Land Sect had grown more vocal in recent years—and more violent. To fnd them here,
not in the hinterlands, but in a key way station on the road north...

Other concerns forgotten, Masashige ducked back into the house. "Hitomi-kun. A moment
of your time."

She rose without hesitation and followed him outside. The voice had fallen silent, but
Masashige led Hitomi away from all possible ears before he outlined to her what he had
overheard.
Had there been a time when Hitomi smiled? Perhaps before her brother died, but rarely
since then, and hardly at all in recent years. Her scowl now was characteristic, as was her
response. "Is that why they have no rice? Because they have been sending it to the sect
leaders?"

"I doubt it," Masashige said. "The Crane have had very little rice to sell in recent years;
our lack now is only natural. I am more concerned by this evidence of the expansion of
the sect."

Ordinarily Hitomi's unbroken attention would have been on him, but now she stood
warily, hands gripping her sword hilts, ready to draw them both. Her eyes darted left and
right, searching the quiet shadows. "Our road had to pass through this village. If they
intend to ambush you, this would be an ideal place to do it."

The reports had said they had grown bolder—but surely not that bold. "What would it gain
them? To kill the Mirumoto family daimyō would only brand them as criminals in the eyes
of the entire Empire."

"They are already criminals," Hitomi said.

"Only in Phoenix lands. Here, there has been no decree against the sect. There are many
paths to enlightenment, Hitomi-kun, and if there is the slightest chance their mantra
might lead them to that goal, should they not be permitted to follow it?"

Her jaw hardened. "They say they will fnd enlightenment after death, in the paradise
they say Shinsei has created for them. People who believe that will not hesitate to throw
themselves on our blades for their cause."

She might be correct. The last reports he'd received before winter set in had hinted that
the followers of the sect were arming themselves. That, more than hungry wolves or the
usual late winter bandits, was why he had ordered his party to travel in armor. The
leaders of the Perfect Land said the world had entered the Age of Declining Virtue, and
that samurai were to blame for the Empire's many ills. Such words walked close to the
border of treason—or even crossed it.
Masashige took a deep breath, feeling the frigid air bite into him. "What course would you
advise, Hitomi-kun?"

She answered without hesitation. "Stop the sect from taking root here, Mirumoto-ue. We'll
gather all the heimin together and question them until we know how many adherents
there are. Then make an example of them, to show others what fate awaits them down
that road."

Seven bushi and their ashigaru: they could do as Hitomi said. Leading military
expeditions into the crevices of the mountains was nearly impossible, but here the
problem was easy to reach.

Easy to reach—and difcult to solve. Following Hitomi's advice might very well precipitate
exactly the kind of widespread armed conflict he hoped to avoid.

But not following her advice...what price might the Dragon pay in future days? What price
might the Empire pay?

Masashige's jaw tightened. He imagined his own son kneeling alongside Sanjirō and Yuki,
head bent to the strike of the blade.

"A decision now would be premature," he said at last. "I already intended to take this
matter up with the clan champion. I will report the situation in Tall Pine Village to him, and
see what course of action he favors."

Hitomi didn't like it, he knew. She always wanted swift action, even if the cost would be
high. But her discipline was stronger than her anger; she bowed and murmured, "As you
say, my lord. I will have the horses ready at frst light tomorrow. And we will keep watch
tonight."

Masashige would never be presumptuous enough to question the wisdom of his clan's
divine founder. The Kami Togashi had valued solitude—a trait shared by all of his
successors—and there was no better place to fnd it than in the forbidding peaks of
northern Dragon territory, the fringes of the range known as the Great Wall of the North.
If it made conferring with the clan champion difcult at the best of times...well, no doubt
there were good reasons for that, ones beyond Masashige's own ken.

At least the road was always clear for him. It wound along narrow ledges, up steep slopes,
and over passes still choked with snow and ice, but it was there. Those who sought the
High House of Light without invitation could fnd themselves lost in the mountains,
sometimes forever.

The High House towered above Masashige's party as they approached. Half-fortress, half-
monastery, it clung to the bare stone of its peak like the talons of some great beast. The
only approach was via a narrow set of stairs, more than a thousand steps high. At the
base, a cluster of buildings waited to receive visitors, providing shelter to those who
would not enter the High House itself. Silent acolytes, children in the simple robes of
those training to join the ise zumi, took the reins of their horses.

Masashige climbed the stairs alone, leaving the rest behind—even Hitomi. Over his
shoulder he carried the satchel with his clerk's reports, ready to deliver into the
appropriate hands. In other parts of aokugan, such a task would be seen as beneath the
dignity of a family daimyō, but not here.

Someone waited for him at the top of the steps, an unmoving fgure who did not so much
as shift his weight while Masashige made his steady way upward. He was recognizable
even at a distance: even among the ise zumi, few would show themselves in public
wearing short, green-dyed jinbei trousers and nothing more.

But Togashi Mitsu was exceptional even within his order. While samurai throughout the
Empire might adopt children if they had no suitable heirs of their own lineage, the
leadership of the Dragon had always passed to the most talented monk of the ise zumi,
regardless of the monk's origin. The boy Sō had been an acolyte at Fukurokujin Seidō, a
foundling left there by unknown parents, when the clan champion had found him. Now,
Sō had become Togashi Mitsu, heir to the Dragon.

Most heirs would dress in fne kimono or armor, but Mitsu's sole decoration was his
tattoos, which his near nakedness put on glorious display. They wreathed his torso and
arms and even his lower legs: monkeys and crows, centipedes and dragonflies, a great
crab across his chest and a tiger across his back, and the head of a dragon arching up his
neck and over his shaved scalp. All the work of Togashi Gaijutsu, the greatest tattooing
master among the ise zumi.

Winter had sapped Masashige's conditioning; he had to concentrate not to visibly gasp for
breath as he greeted the clan's heir. "I have come to request an audience with Togashi-
ue."

"Of course," Mitsu said. The High House was never surprised by Masashige's arrival. "I am
to take you to meet with him as soon as you are ready."

I hope that's a good omen. Even a family daimyō often had to wait to speak with his clan
champion. Masashige surrendered his satchel to an ise zumi waiting inside the gate, a
woman new enough to the order that she had only two tattoos gracing her bare arms: a
snake and a butterfly. Then he followed Mitsu into the High House of Light.

Unlike most castles in aokugan, its fortifcations did not consist of stout walls and deep
moats. The mountains were the frst line of defense, and the strange forces that so often
hid the road were the second. Anyone who overcame those and still wished to assault the
High House faced a choice between that narrow staircase and the sheer clifs of the peak.
Where another clan champion's capital would have archers' towers, the High House had
shrines and meditation halls; where other families had armories and barracks for
ashigaru, the Togashi had the ise zumi with their strange abilities. An atmosphere of
serenity pervaded the place—serenity and something else, an otherworldly touch that
lingered in the small hairs on the back of Masashige's neck.

He bathed quickly, grateful to shed his armor, which felt so out of place in this monastic
setting. When he fnished, he dressed in the much simpler kimono and hakama provided
for him. The wind cut like knives through the thin fabric, but he set that aside, focusing on
his task.

Togashi Yokuni, Champion of the Dragon Clan, did not receive Masashige in a grand hall.
Instead, he sat on a bare platform atop one of the precipitous drops that served the High
House of Light for an outer wall. In sharp contrast to Mitsu's scant clothing, Yokuni wore
armor of antique design, with a separate panel to cover the right-hand side of his body.
Masashige had never seen him without that armor—including the helmet and the mempō
that covered his face.

Masashige knew he should not compare his own champion to that of the dishonorable
Scorpion Clan. But to serve a man without ever seeing his face...it was difcult.

Mitsu knelt a short distance from where Yokuni sat cross-legged. Masashige bowed low,
touching his forehead to the stone, while the mountain air slid like ice over his bare scalp.
"Lord Togashi. Although winter is hardly gone, matters within your lands cannot wait. I
beg leave to present my report."

A flick of Yokuni's gauntleted hand told him to continue.

Like a man composing an ink painting, Masashige laid out the vital strokes, leaving the
fner details for later consideration. The harshness of the winter, and the looming shadow
of Lion aggression to the south. The continuing failure of Dragon births. The danger posed
by the Perfect Land Sect. Forces pressing in on all sides, threatening to crush the clan
between them.

"Togashi-ue," Masashige said, "we must reach beyond our own borders and form an
alliance with the Phoenix. Separately, each of our clans is easy prey for the Lion, but
together we may yet resist them. Furthermore, our own eforts to solve the mystery of
our decline have come to naught; of all the clans, the Phoenix are the most likely to have
the wisdom necessary to aid us. But they will not do so unless we make concessions, and
there, we have only two real choices.

"The frst would be to break with the Unicorn. The Isawa remain suspicious as ever of the
Iuchi meishōdō techniques and other heretical ways; they would be glad to see us close
our western border. But we beneft from the Unicorn's military strength. And more
importantly, without the marriage alliances we have formed—without the children those
widows and widowers bring into our ranks—we would be gambling our entire future on
the hope that the Phoenix can fnd the solution to our problem."

He paused. Even a family daimyō could not stare his champion in the eye, but he
searched every tiny shift of Yokuni's body language for a hint of the man's thoughts. The
armor defeated him: it made Yokuni as inscrutable as the stone beneath them. Masashige
had no choice but to go on.

"The second possibility is that we take action against the Perfect Land Sect, as the
Phoenix have been urging for years. If we can root out that heresy—if you judge it to be a
heresy indeed, my lord—I am certain that Shiba Ujimitsu-dono would consider it a great
sign of friendship to his clan."

Yokuni spoke at last. "When the grain falls before it is ripe, the harvest is poor, and
famine follows."

Did he mean that the time for action had not yet come? Masashige had years of
experience with his clan champion, and still struggled to interpret Yokuni's cryptic
responses. This time, however, he thought the meaning was clear. No samurai should fear
death—but each life lost was the clan's strength sapped, at a time when they could ill
aford it. "Yes, the cost would be high. Carrying war into our own valleys is difcult, and
any strike against the sect is likely to spur rebellions in response. But there is another
possibility."

He bowed once more to Yokuni. "Togashi-ue, I have heard stories of an ise zumi with a gift
that might spare us the pain and waste of bloodshed. They say that when Togashi Kazue-
san speaks to a man, her words make their way into his mind until he can think of nothing
else, and he loses all will to fght. If this is true, she could neutralize the leaders of the
sect, taking away the central force that makes them so potent a threat. With them gone,
our chances of returning their followers to the true path of Shinsei by some means other
than the sword would be much higher."

Mitsu spoke up, without any signal from Yokuni that Masashige could see. "Kazue-san's
ability is not a thing to use lightly, Mirumoto-ue. Death only destroys the body, and those
who fall in service to the Heavens better their karma for the next life. But to interfere with
the mind...that is another matter."

"I do not suggest it lightly," Masashige said. Despite his control, the words came out
sharp and hard. "Were it a handful of lives against a handful of minds, I would not
hesitate to draw my sword. But our clan's survival hangs in the balance. What are a few
heretics and rebels against that?"

What is a single child, against that?

Masashige turned away from the monk, pressing his forehead to the stone once more in
supplication. Too often it was like this: Masashige bowing beneath the weight of his
troubles, the decisions he lacked the authority to make...while Yokuni, who possessed the
authority, sat in silent contemplation. And around them, the world drifted ever closer to
the brink of disaster.

"Please, Togashi-ue," Masashige said in the strongest voice he could muster. "I beg you to
lend me the assistance of Togashi Kazue-san. With her, we may yet avoid a slaughter."

The rush of the wind was his only answer.

And then, the rattle of armor shifting.

Masashige looked up, alive with hope. But to his horror, he saw that Yokuni had gone
rigid, his head thrown back, his body trembling within the ancient armor.

"Be calm!" Mitsu stopped him with an outflung hand. "There is nothing to fear. He is in
the grip of a vision, nothing more."

Masashige knew that the Champions of the Dragon had inherited some measure of their
Kami's foresight, but he had never seen it strike home. He waited, fsts clenched, hardly
breathing. Now. At last. He will tell me what to do, and it will be correct, because the
Heavens themselves have guided him.

It seemed to last forever. Then the trembling subsided, Yokuni's body relaxing. Mitsu
crouched at his side, but assistance was unneeded. Yokuni raised one hand to his mempō,
then lowered it.

"I see a wave," he said, his voice barely audible over the wind. "A great wave, rising up to
strike the land."
Masashige had never seen the ocean—only depictions of it in paintings and woodcuts.
But he could imagine the shape described by Yokuni's hand: the cresting edge of the
wave, curling overhead like a scorpion's tail.

"Where it strikes..." Yokuni's voice faded, then returned. "Devastation. Otosan Uchi laid
waste; countless lives lost."

Another tsunami? Masashige flinched. The one that struck Crane lands three years before
had wrought devastation all across aokugan, in forms ranging from food shortages to
Scorpion dominance in the courts. The Imperial Capital had been spared the brunt of it,
but might not be so lucky a second time.

"I will send a messenger to Kitsuki Yaruma-san immediately," Masashige said. "He will
warn the Emperor."

But Yokuni shook his head and went on.

"Stripped by the wave, the wasteland becomes a battlefeld. On its barren plain there is
nowhere for the enemy to hide, no shelter to protect them from the Empire's might. It..."
His eyes were almost impossible to make out, deep in the shadows of his helmet, but
Masashige had the sensation that Yokuni was staring far past him, to the lands beyond
their own.

"It must be so," Yokuni murmured. "If the battle must come, then let it be on the barren
plain. Only there can we prevail."

Not an actual wave. Not a tsunami. Yokuni spoke in metaphors; what he foresaw was
something else entirely.

Something, Masashige feared, that had nothing to do with any of the troubles he had
come here to address.
The clan champion focused on Masashige at last. "Prepare your bushi. Tell the daimyō of
the Agasha and the Kitsuki families: the Dragon must move beyond our borders at last.
What transpires in our mountains is a mere pebble against the avalanche that is coming."
 Dark Hands of Heaven

Meanwhile, to the far southeast...

A brisk wind scudded across the dry plains, tugging at the robes of the shugenja and
snapping the banners atop the Kaiu Wall. Unmoved, Hida Kisada stared impassively from
the battlements to the Shadowlands beyond, where a vast force of enemy troops swayed
and shifted like grass.

In the eyes of his troops—even battle hardened as they were—he had seen the shadow of
fear. Samurai do not fear death, he thought. An easy sentiment for those who shelter in
the safety of our wall. My samurai know death too well not to fear it. But they will face it
anyway.

Kisada stared down the foe with the same impassive gaze for which the Champion of the
Crab Clan was so well known. Around him gathered his children and closest retainers,
who did not seem to share the Great Bear's taciturn demeanor.

"Look at them arranging their forces so considerately. One could almost mistake them for
Crane," sneered Yakamo, Kisada's eldest child, as he casually lifted his tetsubō onto his
shoulder, posturing with the great iron and jade war club as a youngster might a toy. "It
will make it even easier to crush them outright."

From Kisada's left came a worried "hm," and he knew without needing to look that it
came from Sukune. "I do not like this," his youngest son said matter-of-factly.
"Shadowlands troops do not often amass in such a fashion. They are much more likely to
hide their real strength."

"A bit of a costly maneuver for it to be a trick, displaying their power like this," mused O-
Ushi, and Kisada glanced to his right briefly to see his daughter frowning in consternation
before she looked at him. "Do you think this might have a connection with the attack to
the north, Father?" Kisada gave a low grunt of consideration, overshadowed by Yakamo's
sudden rough laugh and the thunk of his son's war club thumping the ground.
"Children, quaking at the sight of goblins!" the young man sneered. "Such a proud
example for our noble father. Do you want me to read you bedtime stories while the real
warriors fght?"

Sukune bristled. "And you would run headlong into peril, endangering our clan with your
bloodlust? Do you think that you can take on an entire army by yourse—"

Kisada grunted quietly and held up a hand, satisfed when his children immediately
lapsed into a reluctant silence. The champion's eyes tracked once more over the
immensity of the battlefeld, noting each unit like pieces on a game board, arranged in
precise rows. A frown creased his features briefly. They are much more likely to hide their
real strength. He imagined a small pile of pieces hidden beneath his opponent's hand.
Unease clenched his heart.

Turning from the vista before him, he scanned along the wide corridor atop the great Wall
for his chosen advisor. "Kaiu Shihobu!" he bellowed, deep voice ringing with the power
that led warriors to victory and death. A tall woman looked up from one of the giant siege
engines nearby, then turned and approached at a brisk pace, wiping her dirty hands on a
cloth. Though the leader of a powerful family, Shihobu was never far from something she
had built or repaired, and it was apparent she would not be satisfed the battle could
begin until she had inspected all of the siege equipment personally. Her bow was brief,
but full of respect.

"Hida-ue, how can I serve?"

"What is the latest report on the near-breach in the Ishigaki Province?"

"Slowed by rains, but proceeding apace. The damage was severe, but the Kaiu estimate
completion within seven days."

Kisada gave a small nod of agreement. "With our current numbers, what are our siege
capabilities?"

The Kaiu daimyō's usually warm brown eyes dimmed, and her frown puckered the long
scar on her cheek. "We have the troops needed for the siege engines, and a small force
to repair damage and shuttle ammunition. But we are spread thin." She sighed. "The Kaiu
family will never fail the Crab. But if the Wall itself is hit by that force out there, we
cannot guarantee its security."

Sukune let out a long, worried breath. "Our jade stores, Father..." The pale young man
trembled a moment as he suppressed a cough, but he swallowed hard and continued.
"They are nearly empty. If a signifcant force breaks through, our resources are
insufcient to deal with a possible incursion of the Taint. If the land becomes corrupted,
we do not have the means to cleanse it. We will lose ground."

Kisada turned his eyes to a nervous young retainer, who started and bowed as he saw the
clan champion looking his way. "Yasuki Oguri. What of our missives to the Emperor? Have
they not gotten through?"

Oguri shook his head, his words wary. "They have, Hida-ue. My father has confrmed they
have been delivered, and he has sent the Emperor's replies back. But each time it is the
same. A formal letter, the fnest calligraphy on the smoothest paper. 'The Emperor regrets
he cannot send any aid at this time.' For supplies, for troops, for jade..." The young man
looked down awkwardly, embarrassed. "It is always the same response."

Yakamo growled, slamming his war club on the ground again. "A sham of courtesy!" he
bellowed, seething. "I should go to Otosan Uchi myself and demand what we are owed as
the protectors of aokugan!"

Kisada waved a hand, as if sliding a door closed, and Yakamo cut of his rant, subsiding
into low grumbling. "Do no disrespect to the Yasuki. Their daimyō is there now. If Yasuki
Taka cannot catch the Emperor's ear..." The thought trailed a moment, and then Kisada
snapped his attention to Shihobu once more.

"aespect to the Kaiu and their Wall," said the champion briskly. "But where are the weak
spots closest to this location?"

Shihobu's brows pinched in thought. While Kisada's visage had been still as granite as he
planned, the Kaiu daimyō's face was all energy, the calculations flickering across her
features like a merchant's hands on a soroban, beads clacking back and forth. "Just north
of here. A larger stream required installing a runof pipe. It should have a grate, but no
seal is perfect. If you require, I will assign a retainer to show you."

Kisada nodded his thanks, then cleared his throat; around him, every spine straightened.
"This is the duty of the Crab. The Kaiu Wall stands to protect aokugan, but our people do
as well. And even stone can only take so much before it shatters. As Kuni Osaku once
raised a wall of water so the Wall could be built, so today shall we raise a wall of iron.

"Kaiu Shihobu."

The tall daimyō bowed to her champion.

"Direct all your troops to crew the siege engines and ferry ammunition. Hiruma Yoshino,
split your troops. Longbows atop the Wall, short bows at the base—each with a signal
arrow."

The daimyō of the Hiruma family bowed, the well-oiled leather of her scout garb bending
without the slightest creak. "Anything else, Hida-ue?"

Kisada considered a moment. "If you think they are ready, then proceed." Yoshino bowed
again, and Kisada could feel the weight of the others' curiosity. It hardly mattered: either
the plan would succeed or it would fail, and everyone else had other things to consider.

"Kuni Yori," he continued, and the Kuni family daimyō bowed as well, dark mustache
twitching with a too-wide smile. "Split your forces as well—a quarter to support the Kaiu,
and the rest to aid on the ground. Your skills and those of your shugenja will be needed
on the feld."

Finally, he turned to his children, who all bowed as one. "Yakamo, you will be at my side.
Sukune, you will remain on the Wall to relay my commands.

"O-Ushi. Collect your best troops, follow the Kaiu retainer to the weakness Shihobu spoke
of, and do sweeps of that area. Make it clear the utmost vigilance is required."
Although his daughter made no visible sign of displeasure at being left out of the main
battle, Kisada sensed her bristle a moment before she bowed to him. "I will make it so,
Champion," she agreed, turning crisply on her heel to leave, a retainer nearly stumbling
in his haste to follow her. Tension rippled again as Yakamo grinned, his expression impish,
and Sukune glared at his brother, grinding his teeth in an unspoken argument. Kisada
raised his chin sharply, and once again the siblings quieted, the tension dispelled like a
hand waving away smoke.

Turning from his children's argument, he took a fnal look from the top of the Wall. The
forces of the Shadowlands roiled and shifted, waiting patiently for their encounter. Such
patience felt wrong: a storm would never choose to wait for a soldier to fnd shelter
before loosing a deluge of rain.

The Crab Clan Champion gave a low grunt—one which all who knew the Great Bear
understood as his fnal punctuation before considering a matter closed—and turned to
descend the stairs, his sons and retainers following as smoothly as one of Shihobu's
machines.

Just outside the gates of the Kaiu Wall, the forces of the Crab moved into position, waiting
for the word of the man who once again stared impassively into the distance. As the
others around him shifted from foot to foot, or shrugged to adjust where their sode armor
sat on their shoulders, Hida Kisada waited, as tall and impassive as the cedars that rose
beyond the Wall's protection. To the daimyō of the Hida, armor had always felt as
comfortable as his own skin—although, feeling the beginning of an ache at the base of his
neck, he wished the weight of years sat on him half so well.

The Crab forces waited patiently as each of their units arrayed themselves into formation,
and Kisada carefully counted each of their number, measuring them against the plan in
his mind. One by one, his commanders surrounded him and his eldest son—who stood at
his right, cracking his neck and throwing back his shoulders like a dog straining at the
leash— until the Hiruma daimyō arrived, her steps as silent as snowfall. Kisada's dark
eyes met hers a moment and locked, asking a wordless question answered by her small
nod.
"The court is arrayed," stated Kuni Yori, in his sibilant half-whisper of a voice. "We await
your orders, Hida-ue."

Kisada nodded at his generals and withdrew his gunbai from his belt, raising it aloft—all
around him, the shifting of thousands of bodies came to an abrupt halt, the great clack of
legions of troops coming to order echoing across the vast landscape. Each gesture of his
war fan meant a shifting of stones across the wooden wilderness of a game board, and
the movement of hundreds along the windswept plains of the Shadowlands. A point and
left-to-right sweep of the war fan sent the shugenja of the Kuni to the flanks to prevent
the enemy from cutting of a retreat back to the Wall. A point and right-to-left, and the
Hiruma scouts raised their bows, daikyū above the Wall and hankyū below. A point
upward with a backward flick, and the siege engines atop the Wall were readied, the
grinding of their mechanisms audible even from hundreds of feet away.

Finally, the troops settled into their positions, and Kisada lowered the gunbai a moment,
fnally clicking his mempō into place, the steel and gold faceplate hiding all but his
focused eyes. He raised the war fan once more, holding it high in the air as his generals
looked on nervously: the balance of life and death on a winged wand of iron, emblazoned
with the Crab Clan symbol. Moments passed as though the world were taking a fnal
breath.

Then the gunbai sliced forward, and the world erupted into chaos as battle was joined.

Shrieking hordes of bakemono ran forward—some actually aflame, for what the goblins
thought of as an "honor"—and scores of them fell, riddled with Hiruma arrows.

A hideous tentacled horror rose roaring from the enemy ranks, but its roars turned into
shrieks as a well-aimed rock from a Kaiu catapult found its mark, the monster writhing in
agony before shuddering and going still.

The shambling forces of undead attempted to push against their southern flank, but the
prayers of the Kuni shugenja fractured the earth beneath their feet, shattering them
against the ground.
Above all this chaos rose the towering form of Hida Kisada, gunbai sweeping through the
air, guiding the Crab forces as tiles on a board, rising to meet threats and bring them low.

Suddenly a hellish shriek split the air: a detachment of onikage, ridden by the foul undead
samurai known simply as the Lost, burst forth from enemy lines, sweeping in a scythe-like
maneuver and heading directly toward the heart of the Hida forces.

Kisada frowned. He had set his troops to tease the enemy into striking from the left, to
seize them in a pincer maneuver—he had even chosen this spot for his command post,
about a hundred meters from the Wall, for its rough terrain. To attack them from the right,
through an area meant to disrupt swift charges, and where the Crab's defense was
strongest, seemed a move ill considered for even the most foolish of the Shadowlands
spawn. Still, the onikage were powerful creatures, and the Lost even more so.

In his mind, Kisada saw a game piece pushed forward by the enemy, breaking the lines as
its own troops fell away: its best forces in one attack, counting on just enough surviving
to strike at the heart of its opponent's command. He was only too glad to make this
attempt a futile one.

The gunbai hissed through the air, sending a naginata-wielding detachment forward.
Even against the unearthly speed of the undead horses, the bladed spears of the Crab
troops slashed with deadly efciency, sending armored corpses flying as their mounts
gave eerie screams and crashed to the ground. As the remaining Lost staggered to their
feet, more troops flooded in to engage the enemy—and Yakamo, no longer able to
restrain his bloodlust, gave a great bellow and lunged into the fray.

Kisada growled at his son's foolishness and opened his mouth to call him back—just as
the ground shook beneath his feet, and the standard sounds of battle coalesced into
screams of terror. A vast shape, black and rough as stone, burst out from behind the
shattered mass of onikage and crashed through the Crab troops like a meteor, scattering
bodies in its wake.

So the strike at the command had been genuine after all. But he had misidentifed what
the enemy's most powerful force was—when he had sent his troops to deal with the
cavalry, he had left himself exposed. An uncharacteristic curse slipped from his lips as he
brought his kanabō up just in time to block the twisted black blade of his opponent, the
impact sending the Crab Clan Champion staggering backward.

Kisada's enemy stretched itself to its full monstrous height: an oni, its massive bulk
armored in chunks of chipped obsidian, its eyes burning like the fres of Jigoku itself. "Crab
Champion!" the beast thundered, pointing its misshapen saber at Kisada. "You and your
troops will fall! I will take great joy in tearing of your limbs and devouring you alive, like
the meat you are."

Kisada allowed himself a smile, dangerous and thin as the blade of a knife, and held his
war club at the ready before him. "Then let us begin," he declared, and the oni leapt forth
with a howl.

The world around the champion seemed to fall away, all complexity stripped free as cloth
before flames. There was only he and the oni, strike and parry, lunge and dodge. The oni
roared in anger as the champion's iron club shattered one of the obsidian plates lashed
over his demonic body; the champion bit back a groan as the beast's backhand caught
his thigh, sending him briefly stumbling to one knee. A chuckle from the monster became
a strangled grunt of surprise as Kisada's lunging swipe caught it under the chin, cracking
part of its jaw and spattering the ground below with sticky black blood. The aged
champion grunted as he blocked another strike with his kanabō, his joints howling with
pain as they never had in his youth. Age was another opponent he faced, and his best
defense was simply to shut it away—an act well-rehearsed with the pragmatism and
stubbornness for which his clan was so well-known.

Suddenly the oni bellowed in surprise: more black blood splattered onto the ground, and
a lone bushi appeared with ōtsuchi in hand, the warhammer slick with gore. The fgure
took a moment to duck its head to Kisada and hurriedly begged forgiveness for the
interruption. Kisada, still in the haze of battle, only grunted a reply. The two joined against
the creature, the smaller warrior acting as distraction while Kisada broke more of the
beast's armor, the foul obsidian shattering into pieces, bits embedding themselves in the
creature's flesh. The oni growled and took another step forward, making as if to swing its
blade at both its assailants—
—and howled in pain as the ground gave away beneath its left leg, burying it up to the
knee. The oni roared in anger and confusion, jerking as its leg was further pinioned,
lashed down by rough ropes and spiked into the earth. Small furry creatures scattered
within the hole, scurrying away into tunnels within the earth. Hiruma Yoshino's strange
plan had worked, then.

He whirled at the feeling of the bushi's hand on his arm.

"Forgive me, my lord!" the warrior yelled. "But the battlefeld is in disarray! Sukune-sama
craves your signals. I can hold this beast here while you disengage!"

The haze cleared, and the chaos of the battlefeld returned—Kisada heard at once the
roars of more oni, and the screams of his troops. Gone was the red-tinged mist of combat,
and the game board slid into the champion's mind once more. He clapped his hand upon
the bushi's and nodded, and turned away as the warrior ran at the restrained monster,
hammer in hand. The image was lost in moments as Kisada retreated, and the battle
swallowed the pair.

Kisada turned back toward the Wall to see Yakamo laughing with bloodlust and smashing
a trio of Lost warriors to bone splinters. With a bellow, he called his son's name, and the
young man started as if in a dream, then wordlessly ran to his father's side. Through
scores of surging goblins and Lost, and the madness of a hundred small fghts, they
pushed back to the edge of the Wall, where Hiruma Yoshino and her archers were nocking
and fring arrows as quickly as their hands could move. Yakamo grabbed one of them,
who yelped and nearly dropped his bow in surprise.

"Prepare the signal!" Kisada commanded, and the archer hurriedly grabbed a special reed
arrow and shot it into the sky. As it arced upward, a plume of fne red dust trailed after
the missile, and then it plunged toward the ground with a piercing shriek that echoed
across the feld.

Almost instantly, the Crab forces began to withdraw, pulling back toward the Wall, and
with a howl of triumph, the Shadowlands forces started to follow them...
Then Kisada raised his gunbai high, and the sudden backward strike of the war fan was
echoed by a twanging chorus from above the Wall as countless mechanisms released at
once. The front lines of the advancing forces had just enough time to scream—if they
were able, and not voiceless like the undead—before they were obliterated by every rock,
stake, and boulder the Kaiu siege engines were able to fre.

For a brief moment, there was dust and silence. Then Kisada's war fan waved once more,
and the troops returned to the feld, bloodied but determined to continue.

Smoke, oily and black, billowed upward from the pyre of the Shadowlands dead, as bodies
—smelly bakemono, crumped Lost, chunks of oni—were thrown onto the growing pile by a
group of peasants covered head to toe in dirty brown robes. The Mudcrows were a
common sight after battles, either drawn by the need for coin or commanded to as
punishment for some crime. It was easy to tell one from the other, as the ones supporting
families carried trinkets to ward of the Shadowlands Taint: charms tied to sleeves, lockets
holding papers with prayers scrawled on them, chipped bracelets on thin wrists. They
surely knew charms were worthless against such a grave evil—only blessed materials like
jade showed any signs of preventing the physical and mental corruption inherent in the
Shadowlands and its creatures.

The Mudcrows splashed oil wherever the pyre's flames faltered, forcing it to choke down
its vile meal of death. There were more here, he realized suddenly, than he'd ever seen in
one place before. There had been many battles in his life and aches such as the ones he
felt now. But today had been diferent. Both his aches and the conflicts had been growing
worse. One day, his strength would not be sufcient to master either of them.

The sound of a stomping gait approached, and the daimyō knew before he heard the
voice who it was. "Quite the battle!" Yakamo exulted, laughing with pride. "And this is
hardly the only pyre for the enemy dead. Next time the Shadowlands scum should just
save us all the trouble and throw themselves into the fre directly!"

Kisada remained silent, and this time Yakamo seemed oblivious, recounting how he had
taken down a trio of goblins with a single swipe of his tetsubō. The clan champion turned
his head slowly, and a nearby samurai hurried to his side, long since accustomed to his
master's subtle gestures.
"My lord?"

"There was a bushi who aided me against an obsidian-clad oni, allowing me to withdraw
and focus my attention elsewhere." Kisada commanded softly. "Find out what has become
of the samurai, and report back to me immediately." The retainer bowed crisply and
retreated, and Kisada turned his attention back toward the Kaiu Wall just in time to see a
messenger jogging toward him. Yakamo made as if to intercept the woman, but stopped
as the messenger held up a cloth with O-Ushi's personal seal, bowing to them both.

"My lords, I beg your pardon. Lady Hida has returned, and she has asked that I request
your presence in the parade grounds. Her brother Lord Sukune has been summoned as
well." Kisada grunted acceptance and gestured for the messenger to lead the way, and
he and his eldest son followed.

"It's a shame you didn't slay the oni yourself, father," Yakamo drawled as they walked.
"Especially one clad in obsidian. Imagine the glory of the kill! You—"

Kisada stopped short, and Yakamo stumbled a moment in confusion, turning to look up at
his father as the daimyō crossed his arms over his chest and drew himself up to his full
height. "Have I need of glory, eldest? Do you think the Hida family requires it? Or all of
the Crab, do we seek such things?"

Yakamo opened his mouth to reply, but a gesture from his father shut it again.

"You must learn this lesson well, eldest," Kisada said, keeping his voice low. "Strength is a
grand thing. Yours reminds me much of my own, when I was your age. But strength is
iron, meant to be tempered. And glory is as fne a thing, but it is nothing without
pragmatism. aemember that." Yakamo nodded—a bit sullen but properly humbled—and
with a knowing grunt, Kisada began walking again. His son and their retinue smoothly
followed after.

O-Ushi and her troops waited in the large courtyard just inside the Kaiu Wall's gates,
armor splashed with black blood, and a small group of prisoners—bakemono and an ogre
—chained in a line behind them. As Yakamo and Kisada approached, Sukune ran down the
last steps from the Wall, out of breath and wheezing slightly, and O-Ushi gestured quickly
for one of her retainers to ofer her sickly sibling a drink from her canvas waterskin. "Be
at ease, Brother, I have survived," she said kindly, concern evident in her voice.

"I see that—not all of your troops—were as fortunate," Sukune replied, catching his
breath. "That and your prisoners make me wary. I expected a smaller number to try and
break through our lines."

O-Ushi's expression grew grim. "Actually, two groups tried to break through the Wall. The
goblins snuck through the pipe that Kaiu Shihobu mentioned, but the ogre and his
brethren actually climbed over a shorter section of wall. That was where my troops were
lost—but we were able to capture one all the same. I'll make certain to give him to Kuni
Yori-sama, per his earlier request."

The color drained from Sukune's already-pale face, and he staggered a moment, the
implication of the dangers seizing on him. Yakamo growled and ground his teeth, tensing
his hands on the hilts of his weapons. Only Kisada remained outwardly calm, nodding
slowly. "Send a pair of shugenja to the sites of the battles to check the area for Taint—and
make sure they are well equipped with jade." Sukune made to open his mouth to protest,
but nodded instead.

"I will check our stores, Father." He sighed. "I know there will not be much, but I will do
what I can. I pray they will not need it."

The tension was disrupted by the appearance of the samurai whom Kisada had spoken
with earlier, striding in from the gate. Two brown-clad peasants trailed after him, carrying
a covered body on a stretcher. "I beg my lord's pardon," he said with a deep bow. "But I
searched the battlefeld as you asked. The oni clad in obsidian is dead—found with a
hammer buried in its skull.

"Unfortunately, as we moved the oni, we found this body in its grasp." The samurai
walked over and pulled the sheet back, revealing the still form of the bushi, splattered
with the black blood of the oni. "It seems they gave their own life to kill the beast."
Kisada walked slowly over, noting for the frst time that the crest on the bushi's helmet
was Hida, that of his own family. The strap that held the mempō in place on the helmet
was snapped, and the daimyō carefully lifted the mask aside. The retainer gasped, and
Kisada was deeply grateful that the man's exclamation covered his own shock.

"Ah, Hida Tomonatsu," the samurai said. "She was a promising warrior. Fortune can be
cruel. At least she died well."

The bushi's face was still, almost peaceful, eerily young to be clad in such armor, and
splattered with such gore. Kisada looked up to see O-Ushi gazing at him, and for a
moment something in him trembled like the plucked string of a shamisen. He recalled the
frst moment each of his children wore armor—Yakamo, nearly popping out of his frst set,
even at an early age; Sukune, stumbling under its weight; and O-Ushi, confdent as if she
was born to wear it.

Confdent as Tomonatsu had been when she stood next to him, facing the oni by his side.

"Give her a proper funeral, with all honors," he heard himself saying, pulling the sheet
back over her as he pulled his wits back together, locking his emotions back under his
armor. "She honored her family, and served her daimyō well."

The samurai bowed, and he and the peasants shufed away with Tomonatsu's body.

Behind him, Kisada heard his children talking—Yakamo and O-Ushi discussing their
respective battles, Sukune speaking to a retainer about fnding what jade they could—but
the Crab Clan Champion hardly registered it. Instead, he watched the train of Mudcrows
bringing in casualties: some to the infrmary, shrieking for aid; others to their families to
be cleaned and redressed in simple robes before cremation, their personal efects passed
on in accordance with tradition. Still others were laid out in rows, so infected with the
Taint they were to be burned immediately in the smaller courtyard beyond the parade
grounds, where servants ferried logs of rough-cut cedar for their pyres. For long
moments, he beheld the rows of the dead, neat as pieces on a game board. The most
corrupted of them would be burned in their armor, leaving nothing to send back to their
families but a note of thanks and regret. It would not be on a paper so fne as the
Emperor's, but it would mean something. To the Crab, at least.
Hida Kisada's eyes fnally moved upward, following the plumes of dark smoke—on both
sides of the Wall, fed by the bodies of enemy and ally alike—snaking like black fngers up
into the sky.

How much smoke would it take for the Emperor to act? Or would all of aokugan have to
be aflame for his majesty to notice?
 aisen from the Flames

A week later, in the Phoenix lands to the east...

Tsukune was midstride across the threshold of the forest shrine before she realized her
mistake. She winced as her right foot touched the blessed ground on the other side of the
torii arch before her left. Before her peers and in the home of her ancestors, she'd barged
into her family's shrine like a Lion.

When they had both progressed beyond the entrance, Tsukune whispered to the man
matching her stride. "I did it again."

"No one noticed," Tadaka replied. "Just keep going."

Tsukune tucked her hands into her kimono sleeves and matched her pace with that of her
charge, keeping their place in the wordless procession of topknots, Shiba family mon, and
creamy white obi. Their path was a winding upward twist of stone steps and fery torii
arches. The crisp breeze stirred the sloping glades of pink moss to either side, sweeping
up their petals to scatter along the way. It was a blessing in the unseasonable spring
warmth, even as it painted the temple arches with thick coats of pollen.

Tadaka whispered prayers while he walked, passing a string of beads between his large
hands, one jade orb at a time. He towered a full head above the rest, his elaborate
layered kimono making his broad back into a lone banner for the Isawa family. In each
backward glance he drew from the others, Tsukune saw eyes brightening with respect.
Those cast at her, she could not read.

At the top of the stairs, their path fnally opened into the stone temple courtyard. A
mortuary tablet still stood at its center, but the other trappings of the previous day's
funeral had long since been cleared away. The procession poured into the courtyard, the
Shiba samurai dividing themselves into small groups as they awaited their turns in the
sprawling two-story honden. Tsukune ladled water onto her hands and forearms, then
yielded the blessed waters to the next in line. She left the smothering crowd to gaze into
the nearby reflection pool, where shrine maidens fshed fallen peach blossoms of its
surface. In the wavering mirror at her feet, a seventeen-summers girl looked back at her.

"You're obsessing," remarked Tadaka, appearing at the pool beside her.

"I cannot make such mistakes," she whispered. "Not here. If I err during tonight's
ceremony—”

"No one will notice," he reassured her. "They will be too busy watching themselves to
care about you. Well," he added, "except for the ladies. They will be watching me."

Her mouth twitched upward. "I'll bet you truly believe that."

They stood in silence, watching the miko work: the steady dipping of the net into the
glossy pond and the ceremonious sweeping of the stone rim, interwoven with the singing
of nightingales.

"You know," Tadaka said, "if either of us should worry about tonight, it would be me."

"That would be a frst," Tsukune replied. "Exactly." Tadaka smiled. The wind shook the
white-pink canopy, releasing a cascade of blossoms and fltered light. His eyes twinkled
at the shrine maidens' distress as the flowers scattered around him. "When the breeze
steals the peach tree's flowers, it appears spontaneous. But in fact, it was a planned
event. That the breeze would come, that the tree would be here, that the petals should
fall just so...These things were determined at the time of its birth. In light of this, what
sense is there in worrying?"

"That seems fatalistic," Tsukune said.

"I take heart in it." He stepped closer to the pond. Patches of light moved across Tadaka's
body as they reflected from the water.

"I have seen encouraging signs," he whispered. "The masters favor me...well, most of
them do." He chuckled. "Tonight's ceremony will grant me the clout I need. When they
see the wisdom of my plans, I will go to Crab lands to complete my research. And you will
come with me. There, we will plant the seeds of the future." He paused, then softly
added, "Our future."

His knuckle grazed hers. In the reflection pool, the girl's cheeks adopted the shade of the
blooming camellias.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or has Isawa Tadaka-sama come down from his mountain?"

Tsukune stifened as Tadaka grinned toward the new voice. A bright young man
approached from the courtyard gathering. Above his white obi, imprinted over the chest
of his elaborate silks, was a fery wing surrounding a naginata , the mon of the Heaven's
Wing.

Tadaka crossed his arms at the newcomer. "Tetsu-san! I was wondering when you would
have the courage to approach me." They laughed together while Tsukune watched, as a
child might spy on adolescents.

"Congratulations are in order," Tetsu said. "It is a great honor Master aujo has bestowed
upon you."

"I shall endeavor to be worthy of it," Tadaka replied. "I understand you too will be
participating in the ceremony?"

Tetsu nodded. "Hai. Tonight, I will demonstrate sensei's additions to the Heaven's Wing
kata. Although I will certainly fall short of his grace and expertise, I will give my all in
honor of his memory."

Tsukune looked away as they chatted. Their voices faded into the ambience of the temple
courtyard, a carpeting din of exchanged greetings, shouts of recognition, and steep bows.
They were old, young, and gempuku fresh, more members of the Shiba family than she
could recall ever having seen in one place. Above, the wind stirred the tapestries hanging
from the slanted roofs of the stages used for the sacred dance. Gifts from other temples
in other provinces, they were like the Shiba beneath them: vibrant splashes of color amid
the gray stone and polished wood of the shrine. All save for one: a rustic and faded
depiction of a waterfall, thrust high above a pine canopy. The column of stamps in a dry
corner told its story: Lion in origin, completed in Phoenix lands. Among the others, its
colors were faded, inexpert, and unbalanced.

Tsukune decided that she liked it. She could relate.

"After all, I must make it up to Tsukune-kun," Tadaka teased, her name snapping Tsukune
back to attention. Tadaka was perhaps the only person who could call her "kun” and get
away with it. "It is because of my presence that she has no break from her yōjimbō
duties, even when all the others do."

She shot him a hot glare. A playful smile was his reply.

"Tsukune-san is quite diligent," Tetsu ofered. His soft smile touched his eyes. "It is good
to see you again. You were missed at the Kanto festival. Some others talked, but I assured
them you would have been there if your duties had permitted it."

As she always did when she had no recourse, she merely nodded and replied, "As you
say."

Finally alone in the inner sanctum, Tsukune reverently placed her incense bowl over the
hot coals. Within moments, twin coils of agarwood smoke arose, entwining the marker of
the recently deceased, a lacquered box of ashes displaying a slip of paper. In the hazel
candlelight, Tsukune read the words on its surface: Shiba Ujimitsu, Champion of the
Phoenix.

Tsukune held the string of beads just as the miko had shown her. She tried not to think
about what she'd overheard from that miko: that the Phoenix Champion had passed
before his time. That it had strongly afected his brother. Instead, she closed her eyes and
lowered her head, whispering a prayer for the spirit of the deceased.

He'd sat at the head of the banquet hall during the gempuku ceremony at which she had
come of age. She recalled how he had appeared then, his squat frame and plain features
mismatched with his glorious winged kataginu jacket, unfurled broadly as if to take flight.
To his right was the seat belonging to his most promising student, another seat of high
honor. Shiba Tetsu sat there on that day, in the seat she imagined would have otherwise
gone to her brother—had he been alive.

A clatter resounded from outside. The memory faded. Tsukune looked up at the stone
statue of Shiba, the founder of her family. He was kneeling in this depiction. It seemed
larger to her now than ever before. Outside, she heard the chiding of a priestess as she
directed the shrine maidens in preparation for the ceremony.

Just one night. Then she and Tadaka would return to their simple lives. To their future
together.

Quietly, she reached into her white obi and withdrew a thin cloth. Frayed at the edges, no
longer than her forearm, the plain cotton still displayed the cracked mon of her brother's
dojo. Her fngers clasped the cloth, his tenugui. She released a quiet breath. And for a
moment, it was as if he were here, removing this cloth from his forehead and wrapping it
around the tiny scrape on her knee, smiling at his little sister.

"I will do my best," she whispered. Above, the stone face of Shiba looked down at her.

In the moonlit courtyard before the shrine, Tetsu's slender naginata traced the stars with
its blade. It spun in silver arcs around him, not pausing between his steps. Tsukune saw
not two entities, man and blade, but one body in a dance of light and steel and
emptiness. Encoded into each graceful gesture was the death of an invisible opponent,
each silk-rustling swing a fnal breath. Tetsu froze, one foot tucked behind the other knee,
balanced on a single leg, spear outthrust. In that moment, he became a bamboo rod
floating on a stream that reflected the sky.

Tetsu placed his weapon on its stand and pressed his forehead to the ground. As he rose,
the courtyard brightened with the afterglow of his performance. The fery braziers licked
moths from the night air in their jealousy. He returned to his seat, a lone sakura among
the gathered maples.
There was none other who could have performed the Heaven's Wing kata so flawlessly,
not even if Ujimitsu were alive. If the late champion still dwelled in this world, surely it
was in the skill of his highest pupil.

A dull chime raked the sky, signaling the Hour of the aat. The collective witnesses of the
courtyard turned as one to face the temple entrance. The shrine's painted doors slid
aside. As one, the Shiba bowed. Among the procession of shrine maidens, priests, and
shugenja that silently entered the courtyard, Tsukune caught the glint of moonlight
tracing the edges of a lacquered palanquin.

aesting on a cypress stand was a curved sword. The detailed feathers intricately carved
into its sheath drew the light of the braziers, glowing crimson and burnished gold. Even
from where she sat, Tsukune could see each pearl set into its manta-skin handle, the
untouched ribbons of silk woven flawlessly around its pommel, and the curved bronze
wings that were its tsuba handguard.

Ofushikai. The ancestral sword of the Phoenix, wielded by every Phoenix Clan Champion
since the dawn of the Empire.

The last to leave the shrine were fve fgures in elaborate silk robes, their winged
kataginu each marked with a diferent mon of an element captured within a perfect ring.
As they entered the open night, Tsukune recalled the fve elements as Tadaka had long
ago taught her: Fire, Water, Air, Earth, and Void. Five natural elements, and one Elemental
Master for each.

At last, she spotted Isawa Tadaka as he took his place beside the Master of Earth. Tadaka
looked even more resplendent than before in his ceremonial robes. The empty space in
his backward-cast shadow tugged at her, but she walled her heart against the instinct to
join him and remained in her seat. Only those beloved by the kami could preside over this
part of the ceremony. If he felt odd without Tsukune there, he gave no sign. Towering over
his sensei and half his age, Tadaka was a tall pine beside a withered oak. There were
other apprentices as well, one for each Elemental Master. As one, they lowered their
heads, lips moving in unison. Their words did not carry to the crowd, instead rising
directly to the Heavens.
Tsukune instinctively felt the weight of another's gaze. From his seat upon the courtyard
dais, the temporary lord of Shiba Castle looked at her: Shiba Sukazu, former hatamoto of
the clan champion, as well as his brother. The braziers cut faint wrinkles into his face and
lit the streak of silver that adorned his temples. The white of his obi nearly glowed, as did
the scroll clutched in his hands. The fnal words of Shiba Ujimitsu, his death poem, were
enclosed within that scroll.

She froze in his expressionless gaze, the guilt of having met his eyes flooding her face
with heat as she struggled to identify what mistake she had made to draw his attention.
But there came no reprisal from the castle's lord. He merely nodded, then returned his
attention to the ceremony. She followed suit, head swimming in the wake of her relieved
sigh.

The frst apprentice to step forward was she who accompanied the Master of Air. Five
shrine maidens surrounded her. The rhythmic sound of taiko drumming flled the clearing.
Each thundering boom was a slap against Tsukune's heart. As the maidens weaved in an
elaborate dance, the shugenja drew a small conch shell and placed it against her lips. As
the sound reverberated throughout the crowd, a gust of wind raked the canopy, sending
down a shower of white peach blossoms. The kami had accepted the ofering.

It was Tadaka's turn now. With his ceremonial robes and impressive stature, he dominated
the clearing. The shrine maidens shifted their dance. It was heavier now, more centered.
Tadaka held out a ceramic bowl, revealing a verdant sprout within. He rotated through his
prayer beads with the other hand, murmuring inwardly. Slowly at frst, then all at once,
the sprout parted and bloomed with white petals.

Tsukune winced as gasps arose from those around her. They swiftly grew quiet again, but
even so, she could imagine the elders' thoughts about this younger, more unruly
generation.

Next was the student of Fire. The sacred dance shifted into lively steps and energetic
twists. The young man drew a candle and ofered it with an outward thrust. He closed his
eyes and murmured. The light of the courtyard flickered and grew with each inwardly
whispered prayer. The crowd craned their necks, all eyes on the candlewick.
The student stopped. His eyes opened. Nothing changed. He blinked his confusion. Then
came a loud cry as one of the courtyard tapestries burst into flame.

The crowd swung toward the sudden flash of light. Fire consumed the aged fabric. A gust
of wind tore at the flames, lighting the shrine's thatched roof ablaze.

Tsukune felt bodies push at her. Screams pierced the night as servants broke from their
stations and ran. Shiba Sukazu rose, but his face did not change. His mouth moved,
giving commands. The assembled samurai burst into action, evacuating the courtyard,
fetching water. Some ran toward the shrine. She realized she was one of them.

The fre greedily peeled of hard strips of lacquer, tossing them aside before biting deep
into the ancient wood beneath. Already it had touched ground, like spilled paint.

The Elemental Masters stood unmoving near the burning shrine. Their illuminated faces
watched the spreading flames with calm interest, as if they were reading a scroll or
judging a painting. Two seemed to exchange words, but Tsukune could not hear them. A
piece of smoldering tile broke against the ground beside the Master of Water. She did not
even flinch. And Tadaka watched among them, the lone remaining student in the
courtyard, indistinguishable save for his massive silhouette.

Tsukune ran to his side and found her breath. She seized his arm. "Tadaka-sama! It's too
dangerous. Come with me."

"No!" Tadaka's uncharacteristic bark froze the blood in Tsukune's veins. He spun, eyes
glowing, his outline traced in orange light. "Forget me! The inner shrine! The library!"
Genealogies, prayers, star maps, incantations. Priceless knowledge. Irreplaceable.

Someone ran past her. As she turned toward the shrine, she glimpsed Shiba Tetsu, his
resplendent silks fluttering with his dash. As he leaped into the flaming shrine, his face
was that of a man at peace. And then he was gone, swallowed up by the light.

She followed. The heat pricked her flesh and tears fell from her stinging eyes, but she
pushed forward toward the inner sanctum, where Tetsu must have gone. All was blazing
yellow light or iron-black smoke. She could not continue. Spinning around, she saw no
exit. Only a few steps away, her path was curtained with flames. Should they be so fast?
She remembered her brother's tenugui and pulled it from her obi. Pressing it to her face
and sucking air through the fabric, she crouched low beneath the smoke and looked for
options.

Above the fre's din, she heard a desperate voice. "Help us, please!" It came from the side
room that had once been the administrative ofce. There, she found two servants and a
shrine maiden. One servant was pinned beneath burning furniture, the other calling for
help. The miko just stared as flames cascaded down the walls.

Tsukune slammed the case of shelves with her shoulder. It rocked, but it did not budge.
The cloth fell from her hands as she pushed. The shrine maiden, snapped out of her
trance, appeared by her side and did the same. Together they forced the case away.
Tsukune did not have to look at the man's leg to know it would be no use to him.

A river of smoke rolled above them. Tsukune searched for an exit and found none—none
but the flame-licked wall before her: a wooden frame, thick paper, and thin plaster.

"This way!" she shouted, and with all of her strength, she threw herself against it.

The heat seared her cheek, and the flames curled around her. But the paper wall broke,
tearing a jagged hole into the shrine's garden. She fell into a bush and rolled into a
facedown pile. Behind her, the miko led the limping servants out of the burning portal
and into the night.

Tsukune started to rise, but froze. She was at the feet of a man in grand ceremonial
robes, his shadow splayed behind him like unfurled wings. The mon of the Elemental
Master of Fire beamed proudly on his chest. He stared into the flames, hands pressed
tight against a long string of amber beads. His face was stone serious, yet prayers
tumbled out in his rising voice in a tone that was almost pleading. He twisted his palms.
The string snapped with a loud pop, scattering beads to the ground.

By the time the fnal bead fell, the last of the shrine's flames were extinguished. The
Master closed his eyes and whispered, "Thank you, kami of flame, for accepting this gift."
Tsukune watched curling trails of smoke rise from a prayer bead lying inches from her
face.

The next moments flooded quickly by as the Phoenix Clan samurai took stock of the
damage. The honden fared better than it had seemed. Thanks to Shiba Sukazu's
commands and the expertise of the Master of Fire, the flames had never reached the
inner sanctum, nor the holy-of-holies. One third of the outer structure was destroyed, but
the remaining sections had not collapsed. Other than a broken shimenawa rope now
emptied of its hosted spirit, relatively little of importance was lost. The shrine maidens
would begin floating lanterns down the babbling stream to guide the lost spirit back to
the shrine while a new blessed rope was prepared. The priests gave oferings in the hope
that the shrine's state would not ofend those remaining. In time, these scars would heal.

Some Shiba stepped out of the shrine. They carried artifacts, documents, and a hearth's
worth of ashes and burns. Seeing herself in the reflection pool, Tsukune noted she had
fared no better. Dark smudges marked her cheeks and forehead, and her dark-brown hair
was now black and stif. Her good kimono was flame-licked, stained, and sooted. She
frowned and smacked the ash from her sleeves.

Then she looked back through the hole she'd torn in the shrine wall. Beyond the yawning
portal stretched a black layer of charcoal petals and wisps of smoke. She stared at the
place where she recalled having dropped her brother's cloth. Now it was like him: only
scattered ash, nothing of him left in this world.

"Tsukune!"

The voice was Tetsu's. He was with the Elemental Masters, returning the pine box of
Ujimitsu's ashes, which he had rescued from the flames. A cache of ancient scrolls
peeked from a satchel slung around his immaculate kimono. He approached Tsukune,
eyes wide with concern. Although he smelled of smoke, he hadn't even the faintest hint
of ash or burn.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You shouldn't just leap into a burning building like that,
Tsukune-san!"
She just stared at him, charred and sooty, like a bird with singed wings.

"Come with us," whispered the Master of Fire as he stepped beside Tadaka. "You need to
hear this."

"Tadaka nodded, following the Master of Fire to the cabal of Elemental Masters to ensure
their words would be private. He stood beside his sensei, Isawa aujo, the Master of Earth,
and ignored the older man's disapproving eyes.

"Your student has accepted full responsibility, Tsuke-sama," said aujo.

The Fire Master's frown deepened. "It is a shame that I must dismiss him. He showed
great promise."

"It cannot be helped," aujo replied. "We must preserve face and prevent a panic. He is
noble to have done what is necessary."

"Even so," murmured the Master of Fire.

"It has gotten...worse," breathed the decrepit Master of Air. He leaned on a jade-studded
cane and struggled over a few breaths while the others waited. "We cannot...keep waiting
for the imbalance...to correct itself. We must... become directly...involved."

The Master of Water nodded. Her face was hidden behind twin waterfalls of black hair
cascading from her cone-shaped hat. "Even a pebble will cause ripples. The other clans
will soon have questions. Better that the Phoenix provide the answers."

"Perhaps it would be wiser to temporarily suspend the ceremony," aujo suggested. "The
destruction of the shrine is an ill omen." One by one, they turned to the Master of Void.
Isawa Ujina had already drawn a circle on the ground. aising, he reached into one of his
many pouches, procuring a handful of polished stones. As the others watched, he tossed
them into the circle. Then he squatted beside it and studied the stones with a deeply
furrowed brow.

Tadaka stepped forward. "Father?"

"The ceremony must continue." Ujina looked back. "The Phoenix Clan needs a champion."

Tsukune took her place in the ring of Shiba. To her right stood Tetsu, eyes reverently
lowered. Even Shiba Sukazu joined the circle. They all stood together, shoulder by
shoulder, with the Master of Void at the center. In the Master's hands rested the ancestral
sword of the Phoenix.

"Ofushikai," the Ujina spoke, "We humbly beg you, reveal to us your chosen." Then, he
turned to the man directly before him and bowed, extending his arms and ofering the
sword.

Shiba Sukazu received it with a lowered head. He held it for a few moments while the
others watched. Ujina rose. From her position on the other side of the circle, Tsukune
detected relief in Sukazu's smile.

Sukazu turned to the Shiba at his right and ofered the blade. It was accepted. The
samurai held the blade, but when nothing happened, he bowed his head and ofered it
again. The blade passed from one Shiba to the next, slowly and reverently, beneath the
ever-present eyes of the Void Master.

Tsukune glanced at Tetsu and caught his concerned look. He smiled reassuringly at her.
She returned the expression. The mon of the Heaven's Wing and the personal chop of
Shiba Ujimitsu on his shoulders both glowed in the moonlight coating his flawless kimono.

It will be you, Tetsu-sama, she thought. Her smile broadened. As it should be.

She bowed when the sword came. It was lighter than the sword of her mother, as if the
sheath were empty. For fleeting moments, she watched the moonlight dance along the
edges of the bronze handguard and the exquisite pearls inlaid on the sword's hilt. The
sheath was exquisitely carved from a single piece of wood, as if real feathers had simply
petrifed around the blade. She couldn't fnd a single flaw. The ancient sword lacked the
drastic curve of a true katana and the benefts of modern smithing, yet it looked and felt
as though it had just been forged. This would be the only time she would ever hold this
sword. She held her breath to make the moment last just a little longer.
She turned to Tetsu. The greatest honor will be passing Ofushikai to you, Tetsu-sama.

The sword jutted out from the sheath, exposing one inch of flawless blade.

Isawa Ujina gasped. Tsukune froze. From the circle arose whispers and exchanged
glances. Across the ring, Sukazu smiled. Tsukune looked to Tetsu. His eyes were wide
saucers. Like hers.

"It has chosen!" Ujina announced. Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. He locked
her gaze, smiling, clasping her arms. "It is you, Shiba Tsukune, Champion of the Phoenix!"

Not even the chirps of nocturnal frogs flled the silence befalling the courtyard. Tsukune
wanted to shatter it, to tell them it was a mistake. She couldn't be the one. It wasn't
possible.

But to contradict the Master of Void was unthinkable. So instead, she lowered her head,
and her voice fnally returned. "As you say." She knelt before the Isawa and swore to
serve.

Tsukune was alone in the inner sanctum. Moonlight fell in thick shafts through burned
holes in the ceiling. They painted her new winged kataginu in silver patches. In her obi
rested the map of Shiba Castle and the surrounding province—her new home. She
considered lighting incense before the statue of Shiba and the shrine to Ujimitsu, but the
notion twisted her gut. This place already smelled of burnt cypress and ash. Were Tadaka
here, she would let him light the incense so as not to ofend the present spirits. But
Tadaka was not here. And after tomorrow, when he returned to his duties, she would
remain behind.

She looked down at Ofushikai as it rested in her hands, feeling its weight and the grooves
of its carved sheath. Her clumsy hands against the flawless sword were calloused, rough,
and dirty. Not like the graceful hands of Shiba Tetsu, hands that had never even had the
chance to touch this blade. Now they never would.
In the moment after she was chosen, his eyes were dim and he'd barely concealed a
frown. When the blade jutted from its sheath, had it been extending itself to him?

A rapid breath came. Then another. Then a constant stream of them. Her chest tightened
as cold hands squeezed her heart. She was drowning. She was burning. She fell upward
through the yawning gap of the ceiling. Clouds covered the moon. Thoughts spilled out of
her mind like an overfull cup. It's a mistake. You shouldn't be here. It's wrong. This is all
wrong.

A gentle weight on her shoulder. Eyes opening. The shrine was still here. She was still
here. There was a floor beneath her feet and moonlight fltering through the ceiling.
Fireflies had come into the shrine. They flashed, suspended in the air, blinking into and
out of existence. Outside, the wind stirred the trees. Inside, all was still.

Tsukune still felt something on her shoulder, a light touch resting, but there was nothing
there. She curled her fngers around Ofushikai's handle and, after a moment, drew the
sword halfway from its sheath. In the reflection of its mirrored blade, she saw the face of
a seventeen-summers girl. And behind her, the face of Ujimitsu. Gone were his weathered
wrinkles and his glorious winged kataginu. He wore simple rustic garb and the hint of a
smile. His hand rested on her shoulder. Beyond him were dozens of Phoenix warriors. Old,
young, female, and male, their clothes ranging from recent to antique, they flled the
chamber, their glowing bodies fltering the light of the moon and casting no shadows.
Generations of Phoenix Clan Champions, all standing with her, all ofering that same
subtle smile.

A thought came in a voice that was not hers, yet sounded so familiar. You will never be
alone, Tsukune.

She sheathed the blade and released a silent breath.

"I will do my best," she whispered. Above, the stone face of Shiba smiled upon her.
 Curved Blades

Far to the west, in Unicorn lands...

Courtiers in a rainbow of gleaming, elegant robes bowed gracefully as she passed, like
flowers overburdened by dew. She smiled, her thoughts focusing not on the courtiers but
instead on the celebration around them and the riders in the feld.

Scimitars clashed beneath the bright sun, the fnely honed edges of their dancing blades
flashing prismatic light about the courtyard. Two samurai dressed in the purple and white
of the Unicorn Clan fought on a verdant green swath, their display of swordsmanship
drawing the attention of the surrounding courtiers, performers, and children alike.
Between the waving fans and soft laughter, jugglers gamed, musicians played, and riders
performed feats of athletics on the backs of magnifcent, prancing steeds.

It was a special day, a festival day. The palace—with its grey slate and whitewashed
lumber, stif and proud—was bedecked with flowers and colorful emblems of purple and
white to celebrate the occasion. A warm wind blew banners like candle flames flickering
above the curled awnings.

Shinjo Altansarnai walked down the central pathway of the castle grounds, wearing close-
ftting trousers suited for riding along with a purple keikogi top folded in elaborate ripples
over an underrobe of silver and gold. Whereas others wore their swords through their obi
belts, Altansarnai's curved weapon hung in a sheath from a frog by her side, and a knife
hilt glittered above the top of her boot.

"Shinjo-sama," a guest spoke, a Crane courtier with an ever-flickering fan.

"Congratulations on your upcoming wedding." His soft-blue robes were the color of the
summer sky, and his white hair hung down below his waist, braided throughout with gold
and silver cords.

She granted the Crane a thin smile of thanks, continuing toward the edge of the riding
arena. Before she could answer, a display of magic in the courtyard caught their
attention. There, a Unicorn shugenja raised her hands, calling on ancient names in the
manner of meishōdō. She held aloft two small ivory carvings, which were older than living
memory. As she called upon the talismans in a gentle, reverent voice, they glowed in
reddish tones. Dark tendrils of magic coiled about, illuminated by inner freworks that
shifted and played amid the rippling darkness. Around the edges of the feld, Unicorn
samurai applauded in appreciation. The rest of the courtiers fell silent, eyes shifting away
from the display, their fans rising like a winter breeze.

"Such magic...it is an unusual display. We, of the Empire, are not used to seeing the
spirits treated so," the courtier said cautiously.

Of course, the strict traditionalists would balk at the Unicorn's unusual ways. "The name-
magic of meishōdō is the tradition of our people." The Crane quailed, but Altansarnai did
not pause. "No matter what the Phoenix shugenja say, it is ours to master and ours to
control."

"But your clan has been here for more than two hundred years," the Crane pressed
gently. "Surely such dangerous traditions can be left behind?"

The horses rode in circles, pacing their strides in unison as riders stood upon their backs.
With a shout, the Unicorn performers leapt from one steed to another, exchanging places
to the delight of the audience. Their breeches caught the wind, blowing tightly against
their legs as they danced a-horseback. Curved scimitars sliced thrown oranges in two,
leaving the fruit neatly severed by the side of the circle track.

"Look there," she said to the Crane. "Do you see the curved blades our samurai use?" She
raised a hand and pointed. "Those blades served their parents, their grandparents, and
their ancestors before them. They are as sacred as your katana, and more durable. Yes,
we could learn to use a straight blade, but that is not who we are. That is not what we
ofer to the Emperor. The Ki-ain, our ancestors, were sent to learn about the world outside
aokugan. We were to be an unorthodox surprise against the Empire's opponents in the
Shadowlands. While we were on our travels, we chose to adopt new ways. New traditions.
We blended those with the culture we brought from the Empire. Old steel, newly forged.

"Even though we are in aokugan, many among us still choose to fght with curved swords,
because our mastery of them is valuable. We carry our past forward, unifying it with the
new. We remember the things we learned on our travels, and those lessons make us
valuable to the Emperor.

"The Unicorn don't leave anything behind, Doji-san. Particularly anything that makes us
strong, or has saved our lives as often as meishōdō. The Empire will simply have to
embrace pragmatism. It will have to accept our curved swords."

"And will you carry these traditions with you when you marry into the Lion Clan, Shinjo-
sama?" the Crane queried.

There was no reason to let his ignorance disrupt the beauty of the day, so Altansarnai
merely replied with the sharpest of glares.

Just then, a fgure across the paddock strode out of the shadows. A man, his long, dark
hair pulled back into a tight knot of braids, smiled and bowed respectfully. Iuchi Daiyu. As
he rose to meet her gaze, the world slowed around them. Altansarnai could not stop a shy
smile from lighting her face. Nearly twenty years of companionship, and he could still
make her feel like a girl being courted.

"Mother!" A samurai on the feld waved, breaking the moment. Altansarnai waved in
return. Shinjo Shono, her youngest son, rode his charger, his armor shining, its purple-
lacquered slats woven together with silver cord. Shono was a favorite with the courtiers:
young, forthright, and eager—but obedient to his mother and faithful to his clan.

"You must be very proud." The Crane smiled.

"I am proud. My three children have grown strong in Imperial lands. Through a thousand
lives, our clan has struggled to fnd our home—and we have found it here, in aokugan. My
children are a sign of the past and the future combined. Our past, as Ki-ain, and our
future, as Unicorn."

"True, Lady Shinjo Altansarnai." The courtier's voice stammered slightly over the foreign
syllables of her name. "And I wish you well as you bow to that future."
Nodding politely, she turned her shoulder and looked out at the feld. Shinjo Shono stood
frst on one leg and then on the other, his horse cantering gently along below him. aiding
in a circle around the enclosure, he lanced hoops with a spear. To the side, her other
children—Haruko and Yasamura—cheered on their younger brother with loud cries of joy.

"Altansarnai-sama!" Altansarnai jumped slightly. The voice was loud, brash, and too close
for her liking, but then again, no one had ever accused Utaku Kamoko of having much
decorum. "Can you come with me?"

Altansarnai turned to regard her friend. "Kamoko-san." She nodded. Something was
wrong. "Of course."

Back across the feld, Iuchi Daiyu placed a foot into his stirrup and lunged onto his steed.

Altansarnai sighed. There would be time for enjoying the day later. She turned away from
the festivities and followed the younger samurai into the castle. The throne room of the
Unicorn Clan was small for its type, rarely used and pristinely clean. It held a dais with
resplendent purple pillows, a place for the champion's battle armor, and in an alcove, a
stand displaying a variety of cavalry weapons arrayed like flowers. These were old
trophies, kept for centuries after their wielders had been defeated. Some were ancient
aokugani weapons; the rest came from foreign lands, from desert sands to towering
mountains—all the places her clan had roamed during their time away from the Emerald
Empire. The weapons were stories, once told with pride but now vestiges of a wandering
freedom that set her people, the children of the wind, apart. Guards in white and purple
stifened in respect as Altansarnai entered the room. Their eyes were downcast, hands
ready on their weapons, prepared for any movement from the fgure in the center of the
room.

There, kneeling on the floor between two guards, was a woman dressed all in funerary
white.

Altansarnai walked to the dais and settled herself upon the tatami mat, her legs folding in
a gentle movement.
"This is Asako Akari of the Phoenix Clan. She was found in one of the gardens. With
these," Kamoko explained, drawing a small white-handled dagger from her belt and
tossing it to the floor in front of the woman, along with a length of pure-white cord. The
weapon landed with a clatter, steel glinting in the sunlight through the windows.

"A jigai blade?" Altansarnai frowned. Jigai, a form of seppuku, was practiced by non-
warriors, those of noble blood but no military training. The rope, too, was part of the
ceremony, as were the snow-white robes worn by the person seeking death.

Kamoko was a thundercloud, glowering over the captive. Altansarnai waved her back.
"She is no danger, Kamoko-san. Let her speak."

Slowly, haltingly, Asako Akari murmured, "I wish to commit jigai in protest of your
wedding." She raised her chin, a faint tremble appearing on her soft lips. The woman was
only slightly younger than Altansarnai, and lovely in a quiet, composed sort of manner.
Next to Kamoko, she seemed like a bird near a tiger, waiting to be eaten alive. "I...have
the right to do so."

"Protest." Altansarnai remembered the recent news. "I have heard there are protests in
the Lion lands. Even with a dowry of Unicorn battle steeds, the Lion are loath to see one
of their respected samurai marry a Shinjo. I expected trouble from them. I did not expect
it from the Phoenix."

We, of the Empire, are not used to seeing the spirits treated so. The Phoenix were even
more opposed to the Unicorn Clan's magic. Had the Phoenix allowed this jigai because
they wanted to humiliate the Unicorn? It was possible.

The woman shivered. "I wish only to give my life as my ancestors would will it, sacrifcing
for that which was taken from me."

"Taken from you?" Altansarnai snapped. "I am the one abdicating my position as
champion to join this union. I am the one leaving behind my lands, my family, my..." Iuchi
Daiyu smiling, his long, dark braids spilling delicately over his shoulder. "I am the one
placing everything behind so that there may be peace. But you say we have taken
something from you?"
Bowing her head, the Asako responded, "You have, great champion, though you do not
know it."

Now, that was curious. Pressing the issue, Altansarnai asked, "Tell me your tale?"

"I was once Ikoma Akari, married to Lord Ikoma Anakazu, daimyō of the Ikoma family. For
many years, we had been one household. We have a daughter—but now, for his clan and
his duty, he has been ordered to put us aside." The Asako's voice gained strength in the
telling. "You may believe that I dislike you, my lady. I do not. It is not your foreign ways
nor your strange magic that send me to death on this day. It is love. I cannot live without
him. Because he has divorced me, I will die in protest."

This woman was brazen, speaking her mind to a champion. "What do I care? Your woes
are not mine. Yet, I would not see a life wasted. Can you not continue as you are, without
the title? Ours is a political union, not a love match."

"No." Akari shook her head. Her eyes dimmed, and she bowed low to the floor, pressing
her head and her hands against the shining floorboards. "Anakazu-sama is a man of great
duty and loyalty. He will be faithful to his wife—any wife."

"And does he love you?" Love was not part of the samurai code—only duty. Still, the
woman's tale surprised her. How had she not been told of this?

"He does."

A fragile stillness came upon the room.

Was this some devious Scorpion's trick? If the woman committed jigai, especially here on
Unicorn lands, Altansarnai would be dishonored. The wedding would be considered
unlucky in the eyes of the Fortunes. "Now that I know this, I must act. You realized that, of
course?"
"This is my fate," the Asako murmured regretfully. "It is the only blow I can strike. For
myself. For my daughter. It is to my great shame that I was discovered before I could
complete my task."

"I told you this wedding was ill-favored." Kamoko glowered. "Three years we have worked
toward a peace with the Lion, only to have them demand an outcome that puts her aside.
What has she done wrong? Nothing."

Altansarnai shifted in her seat. The woman's choice of action had been brave, though ill
considered. Death would not reunite her with her husband. "Kamoko-san. A wedding with
Ikoma Anakazu is the only way to bring peace with the Lion Clan. If the Lion have chosen
to end Anakazu's marriage, then that is their champion's choice." It was disturbing to
think about, but necessary. Divorces weren't unheard-of, though they inevitably
dishonored one party or the other.

"Even if it means her death."

"According to the aokugani, her death means nothing."

"It means everything. She has committed no crime, performed no dishonor. Yet we rob a
wife of her husband, her child of a mother. Were we not taught that family is to be
honored? That life is sacred?"

"Here, in aokugan—"

"In aokugan, they cling to outdated customs, and they destroy lives." The Utaku shook
her head, long hair shimmering in the sunlight. "This woman is willing to die for her
family. Are you not willing to live for yours? Iuchi Daiyu-sama—"

"Enough!" At the very sound of the name, Altansarnai felt heat rise in her cheeks. Her
voice was as loud as a clarion call, echoing from the corners of the room. Altansarnai took
a moment to compose herself, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with one hand.
"Enough," she said more gently, meeting Kamoko's eyes. "Daiyu-sama is the father of my
heirs and my partner. In loyalty, he supports this union. I have not put him aside."
"He supports you, Altansarnai-sama. Not the wedding." Kamoko said in measured tones.
Altansarnai and Daiyus's relationship was no one's business but their own—it was partly
why they had never formally married. That, and the complications of marriage between
the clan champion and a family daimyō. Still, was she being unfaithful to Daiyu? Trying to
ignore her discomfort, she gazed at the tableau before her with a measuring eye. "Duty,
love—they cannot always exist together. We must choose, and for my clan's sake, I must
choose peace. The contract is signed. We must keep our end of the deal." She sighed at
the end, adding, "What else can we do, Kamoko? We have been through this argument
before."

"It is not peace if you are a prisoner! When you agreed, you did not know he would set
aside his wife like a coward, and you did not know..."

A silence fell over the room, broken only by Akari's soft tears. Faltering, Kamoko spoke
again. "These Lion! For centuries, the Ki-ain wandered, facing dangers alone. Our clan
fought and bled, struggled, and eventually returned home—only to be treated like
outsiders! Our sacrifce has not been recognized. Our strength has not been respected.
The Lion still refuse to acknowledge our ancestral lands; they try to claim them at every
opportunity! They kill our parents, our siblings, over petty concerns of pride.

On our own, far from home, the Ki-ain Clan came to respect the sanctity of life. Seppuku
was all but unheard-of, and punishments, while cruel, were rarely to the death. We
needed every sword we could muster simply to survive.

Our clan has returned and rediscovered our homeland. As the Unicorn, we protect
aokugan, but to remain here, we are asked to forget what we have learned and become
like all the others. That is not who we are. We must not set aside the lessons of the
wandering Ki-ain. Not for the Lion. Not for anyone."

"Great champion," Asako Akari looked up from the floor hesitantly. "It is true: I do not
understand your ways. I do not know why I am still alive to speak with you, instead of
having been killed for my boldness. I cannot live without Anakazu-sama." She breathed
deeply. "There is no place for me in this world, without my family. Therefore, I beg you—
either kill me, or do not marry Anakazu-sama." Bushidō should have prevented the
Phoenix from asking such a thing. Akari dishonored herself with the words, disobeying her
family and betraying her honor. The woman's statement cost her much to say aloud, but
her boldness did not change the facts.

"You have no right to ask that of me."

"Perhaps she does not." Kamoko slowly lowered herself to her knees. "But I do.

"The Unicorn Clan respects Bushidō's tenets, but the long years of travel taught us that
practicality means survival. You are bound by your word, by your sense of honor—but you
are ignoring what is right." Kamoko spoke passionately, her dark eyes flashing. "Mighty
champion, if I were to ask my daimyō to reconsider her plans of marriage, would she
listen to me?"

"Kamoko-san," Altansarnai shook her head. "The Lion and the Unicorn are already agreed.
If I do not marry him, the clan will sufer a great loss of honor. That failure may well lead
to war." Her arms fell to her sides, the purple sleeves of her formal keikogi brushing the
frst knuckle of her hand. "The Lion ofered this marriage as a means of fnding peace. We
give them a dowry of horses; they remove their claim from our southernmost lands."

"The Lion tricked us! You did not know the cost. If you marry him, you leave the clan, and
we lose a great leader. We agreed to this marriage before we knew you would become his
trophy. Before we knew that by Ikoma custom, the wife takes the husband's name and
joins his lands. We did not ask for him to join your house because we did not know we
needed to. It is no loss of face to claim the deal has changed, and if that saves this
woman's life, then all the better."

Altansarnai paused. Kamoko's arguments were sharp, and felt raw on account of her
temper, but the woman was not wrong. Still, she was not thinking of duty—only of
practicality. What of the possibility of a war with the Lion? Should she not accept the
tradition of aokugan and do her duty? Leave behind the traditions of her people in order
to ease the tensions with another clan? To avoid war, she was considering giving up her
future.

The Unicorn don't leave anything behind.

Curved swords. It was a matter of using curved swords—fnding a way to incorporate
Unicorn practicality into the traditions of the Empire. Sometimes, things needed to be
changed in order to become stronger. Hadn't that been the Ki-ain's purpose? To fnd
strength outside the Empire, and bring it home to empower aokugan? This wedding was
based on old traditions: traditions the Unicorn had not known to contradict. Now they
were trapped, and the clan would sufer. "The Lion will not see it that way," she said at
last. "They will only see that tradition has not been followed."

"Then we are as helpless and ill-fated as she. Marry him, and your spirit will die. Do not,
and your honor may die instead. Either way, there is blood on your blade. This woman's
tantō asks us—which shall we follow: spirit or duty?" said Kamoko. "Our ancestors left the
Empire seeking the answer to that question. We returned with the only answer that
makes sense: freedom. The freedom to choose between the two."

"Do you think I am giving up that freedom?"

"You would not choose this for yourself. You say the clan needs this—we do not need this!
Our horses are swift and our swords are true. We could defeat the Lion!" The words
echoed in the chamber for a long, crisp moment, tension darkening the sunlit day.
Kamoko flushed, clearly embarrassed by her outburst. "I am sorry, my champion. I should
not have..."

Passion was clear on Kamoko's face—too much passion. But she was right, and
Altansarnai couldn't argue any further. The feeling was like a stone, sinking into her belly.
If she made this choice, she opened the Unicorn up to a thousand political games. The
image of the needling Crane courtier rose in her mind, and Altansarnai frowned. "You are
right. It is a choice. But it is not a choice between spirit and honor. It is a choice between
the future and the past. aokugan must be brought into the future, by whatever means
necessary."

Altansarnai closed her eyes. The wedding was political, meant to bring peace between
the clans. Yet it could not come at the cost of all that the Ki-ain—the Unicorn—Clan had
learned and become. And the Lion would have to learn to respect the Unicorn ancestral
lands, once and for all.
"You are right." Altansarnai repeated, fngering the hilt of the scimitar at her waist. "The
tradition of aokugan is not the law of aokugan. I refuse to have my place taken from me
over something not in the terms of our arrangement. I agreed to marriage. I did not agree
to give up my name and my standing. We must draw attention to the distinction." ainging
a bell, she summoned a messenger into the room. He paused upon seeing the woman in
white on her knees before the champion, but was savvy enough to say nothing and seem
utterly undisturbed. Altansarnai said, "Draft a letter to the Ikoma ambassador and the
Lion Clan. Tell them that I no longer approve the Lion ofer of marriage. I withdraw my
hand, and no dowry will be paid." The messenger bowed and scurried away.

Altansarnai rose, prompting the soldiers in the room to bow in unison. Kamoko leaned
forward as well, head gracefully dipping in respect. The Asako bowed lowest of all, face
pressed into the floorboards at Altansarnai's feet.

"Ikoma Akari-san. aise. Your life is spared. Leave these lands forever. aeturn to your
husband, and give your renewed marriage my blessing. You are free to go."

Kamoko blinked, her eyes narrowing. Nevertheless, she stepped aside, allowing the Asako
to climb gracefully to her feet. Akari, breathless with joy, wasted no time with her
dismissal, gathering herself and half-fleeing while tears still stained her cheeks.

"Kamoko-san. Carry word personally to the Emperor. This steed will not be broken to rein
and saddle, nor will I compromise my clan in the name of peace. If the Lion truly want
war, then they will come for it—and would have, marriage or no marriage. But if they do,
they will fnd that free horses are worth ten times a chained mountain cat.

"Only if the Emperor himself demands it will I change my mind. Let him command me—or
let me remain as I am, in his service alone."

Utaku Kamoko bowed low, her long tail of hair sweeping over her shoulders with the
motion. "So shall it be, my champion."

Altansarnai rose to walk toward the window, looking down at the riders below. She smiled
to see them racing upon green grasses as though they hadn't a care in the world—only
joy. As she watched, hooves tore the sod, and manes and tails blew in ferce winds, winds
that came from mountains and deserts and lands far away. "Let the past stay the past,"
she said. "I will take the shame they ofer.

Despite their adherence to old ways and constraining traditions, we will bring the Empire
forward, into the realm of the possible. We will teach its people our strength—and we will
show them our duty." Eyes alight, she walked past Kamoko and the guards, toward the
feld and the horses beyond.

"We will teach them how to fght with curved blades."

 Smokeless Fire

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, sensei."

Isawa Atsuko rapped the youth's knees with a bamboo stick, and he stifened with pain.
Nobu showed great promise, but his sensei had to keep him grounded.

"No, sensei," he corrected himself. "I am not ready."

"Better. You are not prepared, not truly, to witness the Void. We must retrain your vision,
so that you may learn to see without sight—strengthen your will, so that you do not lose
your very self in the aealm of Void."

The initiate nodded and closed his eyes. He breathed deeply, in a calm and focused
pattern, centering himself in this moment. Atsuko settled into a meditative pose beside
the initiate. Her knees complained, and the room was too hot, but she would move past
the ache and discomfort soon.

"Let the sounds of the temple reach you and move past you." She opened her ears and
called attention to the current of the world. "Hear the mufed patter of shufing feet
rising and fading, rising and fading, the wind rustling through the pines, the birds chirping
in their branches..."

They continued like this for some time, and Nobu's breathing slowed even further. Others
conversed in low tones elsewhere in the complex. A gust of wind surged, and a branch
creaked. Faintly, the waterfall beyond the compound tumbled into the pool below. Her
apprentice would perceive the river for himself, now, and allow his ego to gently drift
away. Atsuko allowed herself to do the same.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours. She stood against the coursing river, serving as an
anchor for her charge, when a faraway knot pulled her taut like twisted silk.
Something is wrong. Nobu-kun, leave now.

She waited until her apprentice had surfaced. Satisfed that he was safe, she searched for
that constricted feeling, pulled against it, and followed it to its source, flowing against the
stream of space and time.

Eyes closed, Atsuko reached for her scrying bowl. Where the mortal mind struggled to
comprehend the churn of the Void, the sacred metal could capture fleeting images on the
surface of the water within. The chill of emptiness cascaded over her hands, as though
she were holding a bowl of mountain snow. She opened her eyes and peered within.

The purple and fur robes of a rider on horseback.

A carven antler flashing silver.

Wings of gold unfurling, a gleaming ruby glow between them, cracking in two.

The sun and moon trading places along the horizon, plunging the world into darkness.

That darkness pooled within the bowl, writhing and seething, twisting, growing darker and
longer into a shadowy form. Where its feet touched the earth, blood ran like a river,
coursing through rivers and mountains and plains. The creature followed the blood, and in
its wake darkness spread, like a cloud blotting out the sun.

East—it was heading east. Toward the rising sun, toward the dawn-radiant Imperial
Palace.

Fear struck like debris in a swollen river. She cast about for a handhold and pulled herself
out of the torrent. She cried out as her consciousness slammed back into her arching
body and both tumbled backward. The bowl clanged to the floor.

As she pulled herself up, Nobu was retching. The disturbance—it must have resonated in
her ill-prepared student as well. For the Void to have washed over him, even when I had
sent him out...
Soft wails rose up around them from elsewhere in the complex, confrming her fears. She
had to make contact with Master Ujina and Lady Kaede immediately. They would have to
warn the Emperor before it was too late.

Atsuko's creaking voice faded from her mind, but even when the touch of the Void left
Kaede, the chill in her heart did not.

It shouldn't have surprised her—the shugenja of the Phoenix Clan had suspected for a
long time that the Unicorn's foreign sorcery was dangerous. The Emperor should never
have accepted it into his Empire.

And now, it had caused ripples in reality itself, ripples that had been felt by all those with
the gift to perceive the Void. Fortune must have smiled upon Atsuko, or the Ishiken might
not have had the chance to pull apart the tangled knots of the future and catch a glimpse
of the source of the waves.

Kaede poured herself a cup of the tea infusion and placed her hands on both sides of the
porcelain, a vain attempt to ward of the chill.

When she closed her eyes, echoes of the disturbance washed over her again, and the
dizziness returned. She breathed in the sharp scent of ginger to ground herself and quell
her unease.

She could reach out, try to send herself to the place and time whence the ripples came,
but she dared not attempt the journey from within the capital. She could drown in the
emptiness, or worse, drag down others with her. As she had before. She would not risk
losing anyone else.

She opened her eyes and sipped at the tea, but still her hands trembled. They said she
had inherited Ujina's gift, that one day she might prove an even more powerful Ishiken
than he. But what good was her gift if it was too powerful to be used?

"The universe seeks equilibrium in all things, Kaede," her father had assured her. To have
been granted such a terrible gift meant that there would be a terrible need in her lifetime,
and one day she would succeed him as the Master of Void.
She prayed she would be ready when that day came—for both the loss of her father, and
the weight of the responsibility that would be placed on her shoulders.

Here, in the capital, she could use other powers: scholarship and diplomacy. She
represented her father and the rest of the Elemental Council in the highest court, and she
advised His Imperial Majesty on matters of spirits and the realms. The Phoenix had
supreme authority on all the realms except this one: that of Ningen-dō, the mortal realm,
the realm threatened in Atsuko's vision. It was the sole province of the other clans'
counsel.

The other clans would not take kindly to her interference in their domain.

All ofcial Imperial business was suspended for the length of the Chrysanthemum
Festival, but Kaede's warning could not wait. Not when the Ishiken had enacted powerful
rituals to contact her across hundreds of miles in an instant.

And not when there was a chance the Unicorn would flaunt their foreign magics before
the Emperor, endangering him and the innocents who had come to celebrate the day.

Kaede found the the Emperor and his children, their Seppun guards, and the highest-
ranking members of the Imperial ministries in the second-story gatehouse that marked
the entry to the palace. Kichō curtains and reed blinds fltered the glare of the summer
heat and shielded the Hantei from public sight while allowing him to observe the
ceremonies. As she bowed and entered, she caught Crown Prince Sotorii's smirk and
lingering gaze, but she couldn't let that distract her now.

She spied Ishikawa, Captain of the Seppun Honor Guard, and maneuvered herself closer
to him, guessing correctly that he would step away to greet her. They exchanged the
sophisticated dance of pleasantries, but she needed to speak with him alone, away from
the rest of the royal delegation.

"Captain, would you join me in trying to catch a better glimpse of the parade?" The
sounds from the thronged mass in celebration below would keep their words from
becoming court gossip.
"Of course," Ishikawa replied, casting a quick glance to the auby Champion, Agasha
Sumiko, who nodded and stepped closer to her charges, the Emperor and his heirs.

A cheer went up from the citizens of the Forbidden City, and the procession rounded the
corner. She had been looking forward to this day, when the pall of mourning for Doji
Satsume would fnally be banished by the mirth of celebration. Now, the crescendo of the
wooden clappers and drumbeats sounded like a sickening cicada's call.

Below them, in the crowded streets, the representatives of the Otomo, Seppun, and Miya
families paraded in their Imperial raiment past the gate. Chrysanthemum blooms were
draped about them in ribbons and they held aloft emerald banners emblazoned with the
golden Imperial mon.

"What has cast the shadow I see in your eyes?" the captain asked.

Kaede took a deep breath. "I received word from Starry Heaven Sanctuary today."
Ishikawa would recognize the name of the school for Void shugenja, and that whatever
the message was, it could not wait. "I come bearing dire portents. Our Ishiken believe the
Emperor is in danger.

A darkness threatens from the far west, across the Spine of the World. All of us have felt
it, but one of our own caught a glimpse of its provenance. We believe it originates with
the Unicorn and their talismanic sorcery, their so-called 'name magic,' meishōdō."

The captain considered her words in silence.

After the Imperials marched the Lion, their warriors in full war regalia, white manes
flowing in the wind. These samurai had defended aokugan from invasion time and again,
whether it was from the hordes of the Burning Sands, the fleets of the Ivory Kingdoms, or
more far-flung foreigners.

But would they be able to protect the Emperor against this shadowy threat? Once the
darkness formed, would there be any stopping it? Would the Lion, seemingly poised to
start an all-out war with the Crane, be ready? The Phoenix's fledgling champion, Shiba
Tsukune, would be hard-pressed to foster peace between those two bitter rivals. Perhaps
not even the Emperor could, now.

The Lion warriors turned and bowed toward the gatehouse in perfect unison. They rose
and shouted, "Banzai!" for their Emperor, before continuing the procession through the
Forbidden City.

Her words would be an insult to the honor of the Seppun family and their schools, but
Kaede mustered the courage to ask, "If the Unicorn use their accursed talismans today,
and something happens, will the Emperor's guards be prepared?"

Ishikawa's eyes went wide and he immediately checked the gatehouse behind them,
ensuring the safety of the Imperial family. "The members of the Honor Guard are
prepared to sacrifce everything to safeguard the Emperor's life, and the Hidden Guard
shugenja have sworn to protect the Emperor's very soul."

She pressed further—her words bordered on impropriety, but they had known each other
for years. They could be honest with each other. If she had tried to ofer her advice to the
Seppun shugenja, they would have dismissed her out of hand. She took a deep breath
and asked, "Can they defend against forces they do not understand?"

He stood straighter, his hands curling into resolute fsts. "They are the best of the best,
and they have never failed His Majesty."

Before the Lion contingent had fnished their pass, the drumbeats and song of another
clan floated down the avenue. The Crane were next, promising a spectacular
performance of dance and artistry. Cerulean robes and ribbons flowed and ebbed like the
great Sea of the Sun Goddess, and like a school of fsh, silver swords flashed in a scene
from a Kabuki play. Such beauty was so fragile, so easily snufed out by the wickedness of
the world.

Kaede continued unsteadily. "The techniques of the diferent families are among their
greatest secrets, and their shugenja traditions are even more carefully guarded. Only
over many centuries have the Isawa come to understand the strengths and weaknesses
of each clans' shugenja. The Soshi can lift their prayers wordlessly, while the Kitsu invoke
the guidance and protection of their ancestors. We do not know precisely how they do it,
but we—and the Hidden Guard—know what to expect, at the very least."

"Are not the Asahina shugenja's charms very similar to—if not the same as—the Iuchi's
talismans?" Ishikawa tilted his head slightly, looking askance at Kaede. "Both the Crane
and Unicorn's amulets seem to bestow the blessings of the kami upon their wielder."

Were they truly blessings of the kami—or some demon's boon? "Of that we cannot be
certain. No one is." The Asahina's charms of bamboo, folded paper, silk, and bells looked
not unlike the omamori crafted by shrine-keepers to share their kami's blessings,
although the Asahina's protections were much more powerful. By contrast, many of the
Iuchi talismans took the shape of hideous monstrosities: the human form corrupted with
scale-covered tails, feathered wings, horned heads, and furry legs. They were as
grotesque as the oni that dwelled in Jigoku.

Kaede had to make him understand. "I swear, Captain, we do not bring this to you lightly.
You lead the Emperor's protectors. Please convey my fears to the Emperor—it will only
mean something if it comes from you. If meishōdō is as dangerous as we fear, and your
guards are met with a terrible threat to the Emperor..."

"Then you believe we must forbid it." Ishikawa flled in her blanks, releasing a sigh. "The
Phoenix and the Lion will rejoice at seeing what they believe to be heresy quashed, but
the Dragon and Crane will not stand idle while their ally is censured. The Crab may be
relieved to see their old enemy weakened, or perhaps they will see it as losing a possible
new defense for their Wall. No doubt the Scorpion will seek to capitalize on the situation
either way. Most of all, the Unicorn will not look kindly on the Emperor refusing to accept
their manner of service."

Yes, there would be many political ramifcations, but spiritual threats were much more
complex—and perilous—than mere mortal concerns. Kaede replied, "Yet, if they brought
back witchcraft from the Burning Sands, then surely it is the Emperor who has the
wisdom to determine whether such arts continue to serve his Empire." As Lady Sun's
conduit to her lost descendants, the Emperor was efectively divine, his wisdom
irrefutable except by other Hantei.
The Phoenix procession came next, instantly recognizable by the portable shrine carried
by the guardians of the Shiba family. Around the warriors, a flock of shugenja, priests, and
shrine-keepers danced and sang for the glory of the spirit they carried. It was said to be
the kami of Seppun Hill, the guardian spirit of the land beneath this very city, who had
watched over the line of the Hantei since the city's founding.

"There is another way," Ishikawa began. "If, as you suggest, the danger lies in not
knowing, then perhaps instead of outlawing it entirely, the Unicorn will submit to teaching
the Hidden Guard the nature of their powers."

"The Iuchi will be loath to give up their secrets," Kaede pointed out. Something so simple
as the captain's solution could never work.

"The Unicorn are a practical clan. Their champion may well decide it is better to confer
with the Seppun than to lose the arts of her shugenja."

"We shall see," said Kaede. Ishikawa gazed out at the crowd. The next delegation snuck
up on them, hot on the heels of the Phoenix like the deepest shadow following the
brightest light. A group of acrobats tumbled and contorted and leapt from atop each
other's backs, spinning through the air before landing gracefully on their feet. Dancers
joined them, donning mask after mask and swirling among silks such that they seemed to
flit about the street. This, too, had to be a trick of some kind, although what hidden
meaning lay beneath, Kaede could not guess.

"Mine will not be the only voice advising him. The Emperor has many counselors, and you
can be sure that each will have their own opinions. Any decision will come neither lightly
nor quickly."

By then, it might be too late. She would have to fnd a way to sway these other
counselors, or fnd a way to protect the Imperial family herself. "This cannot be delayed
as so many matters of court are! Please, take this directly to him, I beg of you. For my
sake, but also for the Emperor's."

Ishikawa's eyes held hers, too long, but neither of them could look away. "Very well,
Kaede-san. If the Emperor indeed judges your concern sound, he will need help to enforce
his laws. We have the Emerald Magistrates, but the Jade Magistrates of yore—" A cheer
went up, cutting him of.

"The Phoenix will assist however they are needed, make any sacrifce," Kaede quickly put
in. The ofce of the Jade Champion had not been needed in centuries, and the Empire did
not need them now. The Elemental Masters were the supreme authority on spiritual
matters, and they would see to the law's implementation themselves. They would ensure
that there would be no cause for the Imperial ministry dedicated to rooting out heretical
shugenja to be reinstated.

At last, the delegation she feared most came into view, their contingent mounted atop
terrifying steeds, their purple and white garb bearing patterns she had never seen before.
A stench wafted up from the horses, sickly sweet and turning her stomach. The clop-clop-
clopping of hooves against the stone-paved avenue matched the pounding of her heart;
their whickers and neighs sent shudders down her spine.

Please, let nothing happen, she prayed. Her power answered unbidden, welling up inside
her. The cold emptiness of the Void lapped at her feet, as though she were standing in the
surf of a starry night's sea. Despite the heat of the day, she shivered beneath her many-
layered robes.

"Kaede, are you—"

"Forget me," she managed to whisper. "Go to the Emperor. Ensure he is safe."

While the horses trotted in circles, weaving a pattern like the shifting sun, a Unicorn
shugenja at the circle's center held aloft a golden winged talisman, a ruby gem glinting
with the light of Amaterasu.

No!

The Void knocked her feet from under her, and a riptide of power threatened to consume
her. Let go, and you will have all the power you need. Surrender to the will of the world.
I will not give in. But I must see... Her vision darkened, and she saw into the aealm of
Void. Where before had existed only the parade, now infnite street-goers were packed
into the avenue, souls from every moment from the distant past to the far future, their
elements bleeding through the scene in four colors. War, peace, desolation, desecration.
She strained to fnd a single thread in time, to see where the Unicorn shugenja had stood.

The cold of the Void pressed down, trying to drown her. There! She could see it for but an
instant: a spirit, a shadowy creature of smokeless fre, horned and bestial. It howled,
writhing against some binding force, trying to pry itself loose.

Deeper and deeper, into the nothingness, one with an ocean that never ended—

aemember yourself, came her father's voice. Do not lose your way.

I am Isawa Kaede, daughter of Ujina, daughter of Ninube, sister to Tadaka, spiritual

advisor to Hantei the Thirty-Eighth, betrothed to Akodo Toturi, friend to Ishikawa...

She surfaced from the darkness and gasped at the returned warmth of the sun. The
Emperor—the princes—

A cry went up from the crowd—one of joy, not fear.

Her back was pressed against the battlements, her legs shaking, breath unsteady. She
prayed no one had seen her stumble, or sensed that she had nearly lost herself to her
power.

The Unicorn fnished their display with a bow to the Emperor, and they bid their horses
trot past the gatehouse.

Much of the crowd's attention turned from the parade, moving on to the next celebration
or to the countless stalls of food and wine. The Crab, who were next, had ofered only a
dour contingent of warriors for the parade of Great Clans.

The captain returned, wariness in his eyes.

"I saw something," she managed, her voice trembling. "A spirit, trapped within the
talisman. It was trying to break free, trying to get to the Emperor."

He regarded her for a long time. Something in his eyes told her he believed her, but he
wasn't convinced. "I will see to it that His Majesty is warned, but that is all I can
guarantee." He bowed his farewell and returned to the gatehouse.

"Fortunes guide us all," Kaede whispered.

Only the Dragon remained. Ambassador Kitsuki Yaruma and his meager delegation
marched in silence.

The ambassador turned and looked upon Kaede with a cold, knowing stare. She could not
fathom why.
 The World, A Stage

Meanwhile, in the Imperial Capital...

Bayushi Shoju, Champion of the Scorpion Clan, leapt over the incoming blow, dodging
right and striking left as he did. He was as water, liquid movement, placing himself where
his opponent's strikes were not. His opponent was as fre, speed and aggression, lashing
out with a barrage of attacks that would have quickly overwhelmed a lesser adversary.

Another slash; he dodged again. This time, he kicked outward, his foot slamming into his
opponent's shoulder. The woman recovered quickly, but not quickly enough. Shoju's
weapon struck through the miniscule gap opened in his opponent's chain of attacks,
fnding the woman's stomach and driving her back with a grunt. She immediately knelt
and dropped her weapon.

Shoju had landed a harder hit than he'd intended, and he lost a moment recovering.
Frowning behind his mask, he turned to the bushi he'd defeated.

"Well fought, Yunako-san. If you hadn't swung wide on that next-to-last strike, it would be
me, not you, now kneeling on the dōjō floor."

Bayushi Yunako bowed. "You honor me, Bayushi-ue."

Shoju hefted the bokken, the wooden practice sword, in his right hand. The potency of the
Shosuro potions that gave strength and flexibility to his right arm, withered since birth,
was beginning to fade. He turned toward the rack of practice weapons, meaning to end
the sparring bout...but stopped. A thought had occurred to him the previous night, and
now was the perfect time to pursue it. He turned back.

"Yunako-san," he said, "retrieve your katana."

"Hai, Bayushi-ue."
Shoju waited as the other Bayushi walked across open expanse of the dōjō practice hall,
her feet whispering through the cushion of sand covering the floor. Placing the bokken
down, she drew her katana with a whisper of steel, carefully replaced its sheath beside
her wakizashi, the other blade of her daishō, and then returned to face her champion.

"Now," Shoju said, "I want you to kill me."

Yunako bowed. "As you wish, Bayushi-ue." Straightening, she exploded into movement,
slashing at Shoju with a cut that would have decapitated him had it connected. It didn't,
but missed by barely a fnger's length as Shoju leapt aside. Twisting mid-leap, he struck
back with his bokken. Once more, he was water; once more, Yunako was fre. This time,
however, her strikes were edged with razor steel and the full intent, as Shoju had
commanded, to kill.

A vicious cut whistled past Shoju's gut, nearly disemboweling him. Behind his mask, he
smiled and jabbed the bokken at Yunako, hard. The other Bayushi sidestepped and struck
back like a literal scorpion, with an overhand swing that blurred at Shoju's neck. He
twisted and kicked at Yunako's leg, knocking her of-balance enough to let him duck his
head under the attack. Grinning now, he followed up with a backhand blow that struck
Yunako's arm. As quick as thought, she changed direction, moving with the strike to
dissipate its energy. At the same time, she whipped her katana in a wide arc to slash
across Shoju's back.

He laughed.

Still water, Shoju threw himself forward, driving his whole weight against Yunako in a way
that was earth, solid and inevitable. He was now also fre, as fast as a leaping tongue of
flame...air, aware of every movement of arm and hand, leg and foot, every shift in
weight, every tension and relaxation of muscle...and void in the union of it all into a
single, perfect moment, fully mindful and entirely mindless—

His leap forward and sudden impact against his opponent caused a fractional hesitation
in her swing...time enough for him to slam the bokken against Yunako's sword hand, drive
his own left hand forward, and snatch the katana from her grasp. He deflected its
momentum down, then around and up in front of his own body, letting his weight keep
shoving her back and down until he landed on top of her, one knee driving up, against
her stomach, pinning her, while the katana fnished its new arc and came to rest against
her neck.

Blood wept from the touch of steel on flesh, as crimson-bright as the tsubaki flower, the
red camellia that bloomed in the Imperial Gardens. Shoju smiled again behind his mask,
at the appropriateness of it.

For her part, Yunako simply waited, her face calm, almost serene, her eyes focused on
something above and beyond her champion. A long moment passed. Finally, her eyes
moved to meet Shoju's.

"My honor," she said, "and my life, for the Scorpion."

Shoju kept his gaze locked on Yunako's. Such direct eye contact was a breach of etiquette
in court—but this wasn't court. He found no fear in her eyes, no hesitation or regret.

Shoju nodded once and tensed his arm holding the katana—

Then leapt and spun into a crouch, Yunako's blade ready against whoever had quietly
entered the dōjō and now stood nearby.

"My apologies, Lord Shoju," Bayushi Kachiko said, a smile playing around her lips. "Am I
interrupting?"

Shoju lowered the blade and motioned for Yunako to stand. aeversing the katana, he
ofered it back to her, hilt frst. "I believe this is yours, Yunako-san."

Yunako bowed deeply, acknowledging both her clan champion and, now, the Imperial
Advisor. Blood dripped from her wounded neck. "It is I who must apologize, Bayushi-ue,
for my poor performance here today. I fear I was an unworthy opponent for you."

"On the contrary, you were most worthy, Yunako-san. I would spar with you again. Tend to
your wound, then be here at dawn."
"Hai, Bayushi-ue." Yunako accepted her katana from Shoju, moved to retrieve the rest of
her daishō, bowed again, and retired from the dōjō.

Kachiko turned her hinted smile back at Shoju. "Do you intend to make that woman your
concubine?"

Shoju retrieved the bokken and returned it to its rack. "And if I did?"

"There are better choices. There is a Shosuro who would be a good candidate, and also a
Yogo I could suggest...mind you, best not to actually fall in love with that one, given her
family's curse."

Shoju scooped sand from the dōjō floor and scrubbed the sweat from his hands. His
withered right arm twinged again, reminding him he needed another dose of the Shosuro
potions. "What need do I have for a concubine," he said, stepping close to Kachiko, "when
my wife is the most desirable woman in aokugan?"

"Be careful, Lord Shoju...if your wife hears you saying such things, she may begin to
believe them."

Shoju allowed his smile to touch his eyes. "Believing what is true is only sensible."

"Such irony, coming from the Master of Secrets and Lies."

"I do sometimes speak the truth."

The light in Kachiko's eyes became more intense. "And they are inevitably truths that
please me."

Shoju allowed the moment between them to linger, then stepped back. "I assume you did
not merely come here to watch me spar. Allow me to bathe; then we will speak further.
Let us meet by the uppermost koi pond, at the ending of the Hour of the Monkey."

Kachiko brushed a fnger along Shoju's palm as she withdrew her hand. "I look forward to
it, my husband."
Shoju watched as the koi swam about the pond in their mindless way, orange-gold,
creamy white, and occasionally black. Their movements truly were water, a ceaseless,
languid flow. Some among the Phoenix believed that studying the actions of koi could
reveal insights about the future.

Bending down, he placed a fnger into the water, blocking the way of a particular fsh. It
bumped into his fnger, recoiled, and swam another way. Another fsh changed its course
as a result, and another because of that one, and so on, until the meandering paths of
most of the koi had been afected.

The Phoenix may be right, Shoju thought. But merely discerning the future wasn't
enough. Changing it, shaping it, as he had just changed the actions of the koi...that was
what mattered.

"Your son," Kachiko said from behind him, "would be charmed to see you playing with the
fsh."

Shoju kept watching the koi. "Dairu is more than old enough to recognize what is
play...and what is not."

"So you are tending to the fsh, then? We have servants for such things."

As they swam about, Shoju noticed the koi were now avoiding his fnger, incorporating its
presence into their behavior. He withdrew it and stood. "There is value, sometimes," he
said, "in such simple things as tending to fsh...particularly when that simplicity is
deceptive." Kachiko moved beside him. "Simplicity is almost always deceptive." Shoju
nodded. A short distance away, a peasant gardener trimmed withered blossoms from a
purple sprawl of violets. Farther away, in another direction, a pair of servants carried
lumber toward a teahouse undergoing repairs, tucked discreetly among a stand of cherry
trees. There were other servants, Shoju knew, elsewhere among the foliage around them,
engaged in all of the various labors needed to keep the gardens a place of tailored
beauty. Simple people, doing simple things.

And all of it a lie.

They were servants, yes, but they were also agents of the Scorpion. Through their
presence and movements, they would ensure that no one would be able to approach him
and Kachiko closely enough to overhear whatever they might say—at least, not without
them knowing about it. The gardener would turn his attention to a nearby hibiscus, the
laborers working on the teahouse would move a particular piece of lumber, and Shoju
would know someone was approaching long before they got close enough to be a
concern. Small and simple things done by apparently small and simple people, but
actually full of meaning—deceptive simplicity, all of it in service to the Scorpion.

"Something troubles you, my husband," Kachiko said.

"Many things trouble me."

"Is that why you were seriously considering killing that samurai in the dōjō?"

Shoju glanced at Kachiko, then began to walk, following a winding path away from the koi
pond. Kachiko fell smoothly into step alongside him.

"She needed to see that my intent to kill her was true," he said, "so that I, in turn, could
see her reaction to it."

"You were testing her."

Shoju watched as the servants-who-weren't began to move about the gardens,

repositioning themselves to accommodate his and Kachiko's movements. "Bayushi
Yunako was suggested to me as a candidate for command of the Bayushi Elite Guard.
Such a position demands loyalty that is absolute, and a devotion to duty that is
unwavering. I therefore told her to kill me, and she immediately brought all of her skills to
bear, seeking to do just that. And when I had defeated her, she was just as ready to die
by my hand, without question or even understanding why."

"A dead woman would make a poor commander, no matter how loyal or devoted."

"Then it was a good thing," Shoju said, "that you showed up when you did."
Kachiko smiled. For a while, they just walked among trees in bloom, taking in the colors
and mingled scents of myriad flowers. Eventually, they reached a small, arched bridge
over a placid creek, one of several that meandered through the gardens of the Imperial
Palace. Shoju stopped at the peak of the arch and leaned on the railing, looking along the
watercourse to where it vanished beneath a spill of weeping-willow fronds.

Kachiko placed her hand on the railing, just touching his. "And still my words stand
unanswered," she said. "Something troubles you...something beyond merely selecting
trusted commanders for our clan's military forces."

Shoju watched a solitary rose petal drift along the creek. "I am mindful of a Kabuki play I
recently saw," he said. "The attention was meant to be on the actors, of course, who all
played their roles with appropriate skill. My own interest, however, kept returning to the
kuroko: the stagehands, all dressed in black, who moved props about and rearranged the
stage and scenery as the play progressed. They dressed in black because they were
meant to be invisible and ignored." He looked at Kachiko. "It struck me, though, that the
kuroko are really the most important of the players on the stage. Their placement of the
scenery and props determines the movements of those actors. Change a single element
even slightly, and a performer can be made to step into shadow, or stoop slightly, or
come somewhat too close to the edge of the stage. This will change how that actor
delivers their performance and, with it, the delivery of the play itself."

Kachiko watched her husband but said nothing and waited for him to go on.

Shoju looked back at the drifting petal. "If the Empire is the play, and the clans its
players, then ours is at the center of the stage, where the attention is most focused." He
turned back to Kachiko. "But is that where the Scorpion belong? Are we not meant to be
the kuroko, dressed in black and largely ignored, arranging and shaping the events of the
Empire, while all eyes are fxed elsewhere?"

"We have labored mightily to gain the power we now hold," Kachiko said. "Years of careful
planning, of procuring key appointments and influential marriages, of removing those
who would stand in our way—all of it has culminated in what we now have. The Scorpion
have earned the center of the Imperial stage, have we not?"
"I don't dispute that," Shoju said. "We have, indeed, earned what we have. That doesn't
mean it's what we should have."

"I believe I hear echoes in your voice, husband. Echoes of the daimyō of the Soshi and
Yogo families..."

"Soshi Shiori and Yogo Junzo have both conveyed their thoughts to me, yes. Both, in their
own respective ways, believe that we have accrued power at the expense of what our
true role in the Empire should be."

"And you agree with them?"

Shoju looked for the rose petal, but it was gone, vanished beneath the willow fronds. "I do
not immediately disagree with them." He smiled at Kachiko. "However, I wouldn't assume
a position either way without frst hearing what my most trusted advisor has to say about
the matter."

"It sounds like you're suggesting we surrender power to the other clans, allowing them to
make gains in the Imperial Court. And this would be to enable us to work from the
margins, from a weakened position?" Kachiko raised an eyebrow. "It is an interesting
approach to furthering our clan's agenda."

"My distant predecessor, Bayushi Ogoe, did this very thing, did he not? The Scorpion were
then ascendant in the Empire in almost every way. By bragging about how easy it would
be to defeat the Unicorn, when every other clan had failed, and then losing to them in a
truly humiliating fashion, he made our clan appear overconfdent and weak. The other
clans dismissed us and fell back to fghting among themselves—the perfect conditions for
doing the things that our clan does best."

"The diference," Kachiko said, "is that the aokugan of Ogoe's time was relatively
prosperous and stable. The clans found it easy to view the Scorpion as a common
enemy." Kachiko looked toward a stand of maples farther along the path they'd been
walking. Her eyes were distant, though, gazing at things beyond the trees. "By
comparison, the Empire today is in turmoil. The Crane hover on the brink of famine—a
famine that could spread, if harvests so much as falter in another part of the Empire. The
Dragon grapple with ever-fewer births among their people, even while this Perfect Land
Sect rises among them, preaching heresy and sedition. The Crab fght desperately to hold
the Carpenter Wall against the darkness, the Phoenix fnd communion with the elemental
kami ever more difcult—"

"I am well aware of the issues facing the Empire," Shoju said. "It is because of them, in
fact, that the clans turn envious eyes toward us. Take Doji Hotaru. She may be young and
inexperienced in her role as the Champion of the Crane, but she is Doji Satsume's
daughter. She will seek power in the courts to ofset her clan's weakness elsewhere,
particularly in the wake of the Emerald Champion's death. She will likely fnd eager allies
to that end in the Phoenix and the Unicorn."

"The Phoenix are of little consequence," Kachiko said, shrugging slightly, "and there will
be no alliance permitted between the Crane and the Unicorn. Moreover, her clan's loss of
the Emerald Championship can be our gain. Your brother, Aramoro, would be an excellent
candidate, I think."

"Perhaps...but Kakita Yoshi is still the Imperial Chancellor. He will likely be most
accommodating when Hotaru wishes to advance her clan's agenda in the courts."

"You can rest assured that you needn't worry about Hotaru or, by extension, the Crane,
my husband."

Shoju looked down into the water, taking note of the certainty in Kachiko's tone. After a
brief pause to allow her to see he had noted it, he continued. "Then there is the matter of
the Crab. Hida Kisada begins to mutter darkly about us, over the matter of the Emperor's
apparent lack of interest in the mounting threat to the Wall. At the very least, he wonders
why we don't use our influence to convince the Emperor that securing the Wall is the
Empire's most pressing concern."

"It is unlike Kisada to so openly admit weakness."

"I have ofered him aid from our clan, troops and material, but he demands an
unacceptable degree of control over them."
"That is just stubborn Crab pride."

"Indeed, but it doesn't change the fact they are another clan beginning to eye our power
and influence with growing resentment."

Kachiko said nothing for a while. Shoju felt her weighing something in the silence, as
though deciding whether she should speak and, if so, what words to use. Curious, he
waited, listening to the soft gurgle of the stream under the bridge.

"Perhaps," Kachiko fnally said, "there is an alternative way of seeing this play." Shoju
looked at her. "Perhaps," she went on, "instead of surrendering power and moving into
the shadows like your kuroko, we should do the opposite. Just as I suggested we consider
seeing Aramoro made Emerald Champion, perhaps we should be gathering and
consolidating even more power for our clan."

"That would be a brazen strategy."

"Possibly. But again, this is not Ogoe's Empire. In dire times, aokugan needs strength and
leadership. Dissipating our gains and allowing them to accrue to others simply risks all of
the clans being weak, at the very time when at least one of them must be strong."

"Bayushi-no-Kami told the frst Emperor we would be his villain," Shoju said, "not the
enforcers of his will."

"True. But many Hantei emperors have come and gone in the meantime. None have
enjoyed the favor of Heaven as clearly as the frst. And this one, the thirty-eighth—"

Shoju held up a hand. "Your words are becoming dangerous, my wife, if you are
suggesting that the Celestial Heavens have withdrawn their favor from this Hantei."

"I presume to suggest no such thing," Kachiko said. "I merely observe that crisis and strife
are rising across the Empire. The Emperor needs to be especially strong in such a time.
He needs the strength that you have, Bayushi Shoju of the Scorpion."
Shoju clasped his hands behind his back, his good left holding his withered right. "An
absurd thought occurs to me," he said. "Perhaps it is only because I'm fatigued after my
exertions in the dōjō. However, one could take what you just said to mean that I could sit
upon the Chrysanthemum Throne." He smiled. "As I said, though, it is absurd to think you
could even be so much as hinting at such a thing, isn't it?"

Kachiko laughed.

"Oh, my husband...do you really believe I could even imagine such a thing? That I would
see anyone but a Hantei upon the throne of aokugan?" She laughed again. "When
Bayushi-no-Kami said he would be Hantei-no-Kami's villain, I don't believe he intended
quite that degree of villainy. As you said, it is an entirely absurd thought."

"Perhaps," Shoju said, his smile vanishing, "you should choose your words with more
care, then, my wife." Looking around, he saw the gardener, now trimming grass beneath
a hibiscus...the teahouse laborers, now shifting another piece of lumber. These gardens,
like the Imperial Court itself, efectively belonged to the Scorpion. It was almost certain
no one would ever be able to overhear them.

Almost.

Kachiko bowed an apology. "You are right, of course, my husband. I will endeavor not to
be so careless in the future."

Shoju nodded and began walking again, across the bridge and toward the stand of
maples. Kachiko once more fell into step beside him and they resumed their discussion,
talking about the many troubles facing the Empire, and the challenges—and opportunities
—they presented to the Scorpion Clan.
 A Most Suitable Teacher

Several weeks later...

Ide Tadaji had expected such a gambit from the Scorpion, but not from the Phoenix.
Suddenly, rumors swirled around meishōdō at the highest of levels. Some advisors were
said to be advocating for the Emperor to outlaw it entirely. There had been scant time to
prepare a response, to call in favors among the Emperor's most trusted counselors and
ensure that the Unicorn did not sufer a major loss of face in the impending session of
court. He had moved as many pieces as he could to gain the advantage, to force the
game to unfold as he willed it.

If his opponent had outmaneuvered him, it would fall within Altansarnai's rights to call for
his retirement—or seppuku.

"Ambassador Ide Tadaji," came Captain Ishikawa's voice as he rounded a corner and
entered the audience chamber. Tadaji knelt deeply on the mat. When he straightened
himself, the captain had settled in with the painted green bamboo forest on the screen
behind him. Golden chrysanthemum medallions had been inlaid on each screen, lest
anyone forget the Seppun's royal lineage.

"Captain Ishikawa. Thank you for inviting me this day," Tadaji ofered. The Seppun family
was normally reclusive—focused single-mindedly on their task of protecting the Emperor
and his immediate family. It was on such business that the Unicorn's representative had
been brought into their sanctum.

"No doubt you have heard of the concerns raised over your clan's magical practices,"
Ishikawa began.

Tadaji nodded. "Yes, Captain." Ishikawa had carefully omitted the Phoenix's ownership
over those concerns. Was it due to his sympathies for the clan, or because he was one of
the few Imperials who did not see a beneft from increased rivalry among the clans?
A heaviness weighed in the air. The moment of truth. Ishikawa sat before him, but Tadaji
could feel him standing behind him as well: his second, ready to fnish of the self-inflicted
agony.

Had Iuchi doomed the Unicorn by adopting these practices from the sahir? When the
Fortunes and kami ignored his prayers in the Burning Sands, should he have accepted
their refusal?

Shinjo-no-Kami herself had allowed the practice. Do not dishonor her with your doubt,
Tadaji.

Although it had only been a moment, Ishikawa fnally said, "The Emperor does not believe
the magic of the Unicorn need be censured."

The shadow standing over him fell away with the words, but Tadaji did not dare allow
himself a sigh of relief. Nothing would be so simple—the terms of the Emperor's
forbearance came next, and the Phoenix would not permit the Unicorn to go on their way
completely unscathed. Not if the Elemental Masters had aught to say about it.

"The Unicorn have served the Emperor well in their time venturing in foreign lands as well
as during their time here. We do not see cause to prevent them from serving in their
fashion. However—"

There it was.

"The Seppun must serve their duty as well, and they cannot protect the Emperor knowing
so little of the practice and its nature. We require that one of the Unicorn's practitioners
travel to the capital to teach our guards."

Alter the bargain! Sweeten the airag for the Unicorn somehow. He made to speak, then
stopped himself. What could he say to make the Imperials show greater mercy than they
already had?

Ishikawa continued, "We understand that Iuchi Daiyu's own daughter has recently
completed her gempuku and is among your most promising meishōdō practitioners."
Ah, yes. Shahai. The perfect candidate for a teacher—and a hostage. Was this Kaede's
doing? A master stroke—if the Unicorn's magic ceased to be acceptable, the clan would
be forced to cease immediately lest anything befall the daughter of the Iuchi daimyō.

The shadowy second had withdrawn to stand over her head, sword ready to swing.

"She will be an honored guest in this very palace and aforded all the luxuries of the
Forbidden City."

So they would take her away from her people, her father, her home. She was to become a
mere cog in the machinations of court and a traitor in the eyes of her people. Even if she
had been commanded by the Emperor Himself to do so, she would still be sharing her
family's secrets, betraying its tradition to outsiders. She would never truly be welcome
among the Iuchi again.

None of that mattered to the Emperor or his family. Why should it? "Of course. I will send
word to Lord Iuchi Daiyu upon one of our fastest steeds."

"The Emperor extends his assurances that all his servants are greatly valued for their
service."

"We humbly accept—and are most grateful for—the Emperor's faith." The rest of the clan
would have to feel the same. They had no other choice.

Yes—the Emperor's wisdom had spared the Unicorn delegation the humiliation of a
tremendous blow to their resources at a time when they needed to be strong and
attractive allies for the Crane, and make use of the Crane's political acumen, even if
Hotaru's cofers couldn't pave the diplomatic road as easily as they once could.

The Lion would be furious, but then again, there was already no love lost between them
and the Unicorn. He would deal with Ambassador Ikoma Ujiaki—even if their words might
well become blows exchanged on the battlefeld soon.
The Phoenix, however—they would not cease casting a suspicious eye at the Clan of the
Wind. It would be almost impossible to win their aid, even with the help of the Dragon
Clan.

The pieces had shifted on the board in a single stroke, as though someone had picked up
the board and slid everything to one side. A few were bound to fall of entirely.

The question was whether the pieces could be brought back to the table once they had
been removed from the game. And what Tadaji had to do to make that happen.
 In the Garden of Lies (Part I)

In the City of Lies, it was almost refreshing to see a dispute settled with the clean strike of
an iaijutsu duel.

Yogo Hiroue had suggested to his lord that it might be advantageous for them if Bayushi
Gensato threw the fght. "After all," he'd said, "Kitsuki-san will hardly be inclined to stay
at your party for long if she's humiliated by defeat at his hands." He thought, but did not
say, she knows your reputation too well.

The city's governor, Shosuro Hyobu, had dismissed this notion with a single flick of her
fan. "Kitsuki-san may not be trained as an investigator, but she is a master of the
Mirumoto technique—however unorthodox her style may be. If Gensato does anything
less than his best against her, she will know."

So now the two bushi stood facing one another in the night, feet carefully planted in the
gravel of the courtyard, the torchlight around them casting shadows that danced even
while the sources remained still. Hiroue made a show of examining Kitsuki Shomon's
stance, but it truly was a show; he was at best an indiferent swordsman himself. Like all
Mirumoto-trained bushi, Shomon stood ready to draw not only her katana but also her
wakizashi. Any unorthodoxy beyond that, however, was invisible to him.

She was a stocky woman, and would have been considered plain among courtiers, but
Hiroue always felt that skill created its own kind of beauty. With a few wind-blown strands
of hair across her face and her eyes fxed intently on Gensato, she made a striking
picture. He could believe this was the woman who, in defance of all convention, had
established a dōjō in ayokō Owari that accepted any student: not just fellow members of
the Dragon Clan, not just clan samurai, but anyone with the right to carry daishō, down to
ronin. She even spared some of her time to instruct peasants! Not in swordsmanship, of
course; any peasant found with a sword would be executed, and the sensei would be
lucky if she had the opportunity to erase her shame with seppuku. But Shomon taught
them the basics of jūjutsu, as if she were a monk of the Brotherhood, claiming that it
improved their bodies and spirits. If it also helped those peasants protect themselves
against the ruthless "freman" gangs that held so much of the city in their grip...surely
that was coincidence.

Given that many of those gangs were in the governor's pay, Shosuro-sama had surprised
nearly everyone by permitting Shomon to run her dōjō as she saw ft. But Hiroue knew
that Shomon, with the typical unpredictability of a Dragon, had ofered to share the fate
of any student who used her teachings to transgress. So far, at least, Shosuro-sama had
not made any attempt to turn that against her.

She had even given Shomon this chance to demonstrate the value of her ways, to silence
the whispers of her critics. A dozen samurai stood around the dueling circle, waiting to
see who would prove the greater, Shomon or Gensato. They were too respectful of the
duel to gossip, but the sound of a fan snapping open cracked the stillness, shockingly
loud. Hiroue didn't look away from the duelists, but he noted the ofender from the corner
of his eye: Bayushi Masanao. The man would pay for that disturbance later.

Not that it had disturbed either of the duelists. Gensato even had a faint, cocky smile on
his face. It was on the governor's orders that he had publicly disparaged Shomon's style,
saying that it could not be worth much if ronin could learn it. Shomon would never have
accepted a casual invitation to a party at the governor's mansion, but she could hardly
refuse the chance to defend her honor. According to the custom of iaijutsu, the upcoming
strike would settle the dispute one way or another.

Gravel crunched as one of the duelists shifted their foot, too minutely for Hiroue to see.
He found himself holding his breath in anticipation. It's so much more interesting when I
don't know how it will end.

There was no cue to move. He almost didn't see it happen. The two duelists were
standing just out of blade's reach; then there was a brief, explosive flurry of steel. When it
ended, they were on opposite sides of each other, swords out. The tableau held for a
moment before Gensato relaxed and bowed to Shomon. A small patch of darkness
stained his left sleeve. "I stand corrected, Kitsuki-san. Please accept my apology. You
have truly shown me the strength of your blade."
Like a proper Dragon, Shomon was too self-controlled to gloat. She returned his bow.
"There is nothing to forgive, Bayushi-san."

The gathered observers murmured to one another, already discussing the political
implications of the duel. Shosuro-sama glided forward with a smile, ready to congratulate
the victor.

Hiroue did not join them. As the governor's guest, Shomon could not leave the party
immediately without giving insult. But he doubted she was the sort to enjoy Shosuro-
sama's sophisticated entertainments, either. Sooner or later, she would seek out a quiet
corner to regain her peace of mind.

aetrieving his shamisen from a servant, Hiroue went to fnd a suitable corner, and wait.

The shamisen still lay in Hiroue's hands, but many long minutes had passed since he last
strummed a note. The instrument had served its purpose, luring Shomon to fnd the
source of the delicate music floating through the nighttime peace of the governor's
gardens.

The place was lovely even in the spring darkness, but nothing compared to its splendor in
the daytime. Then again, perhaps it was just as well that Shomon was seeing the gardens
only at night. The peasants of ayokō Owari referred to the governor's lavish manor as
"the house that opium built"—although never where they thought a samurai could hear.
They weren't wrong, but the truth was no defense against a samurai's fury. Especially not
in Scorpion lands.

Hiroue had been in the gardens many times before, but he found himself in unfamiliar
territory now. Ordinarily he had a well-practiced arsenal of tricks for occasions such as
these: The "accidental" brush of his layered sleeves against his target's hand. Eye contact
that lingered just an instant too long for propriety, but not so long as to be of-putting.
The gradual dropping of his voice, until it rested comfortably in a low rumble that
suggested the languor of the bedroom. Gestures that drew attention to his hands—he had
cultivated his musical talents in the direction of the shamisen because it gave him a
chance to display his most beautiful feature. He had deployed these tricks against
countless men and women, and very few of them had proved resistant to his charms.
With Shomon, he had abandoned that approach mere minutes into their encounter.
Seducing her might be possible, but it would take far longer than he could spare, and any
attempt to rush the process would only drive her away. Instead Hiroue had directed the
conversation toward religious matters—and he was getting trounced.

"'Winds blow, nations change, fortunes rise and fall, but the simple folk will always be
asked to shoulder the weight,'" Shomon said, quoting the Tao. "And the Single Leaf Sutra
reminds us that the strength of a chain depends on its weakest link. If heimin are asked
to shoulder so much weight, should we not devote our eforts to making certain they are
strong enough to bear it? Indeed, we demand the merits of Bushidō from them in
countless ways, only we do not give it that name. We expect courage from ashigaru, duty
and loyalty from laborers, reverence and courtesy when they are in the presence of their
superiors. Honesty is just as meritorious in a peasant as it is in a samurai. But they lack
instruction, and without knowing the pitfalls, how can they choose the correct path?"

Hiroue was fairly certain the last question was another allusion to the Tao. He would have
liked to respond in kind, but none of the quotations that came to mind pointed in the
direction he needed. Instead he was forced to resort to plain speech. "But the correct
path of a heimin is diferent from a samurai's, is it not? What if, by instructing them in the
precepts of Bushidō, you lead them away from their proper dharma?"

She scofed at the question. "Tell me where it serves the Empire for a peasant to be
cowardly, or cruel, or dishonest. The nature of their duty is diferent from a samurai's,
that I would not argue—but virtue is virtue. And true virtue is the center from which all
else proceeds."

Hiroue almost smiled. He was no swordsman, but in conversation as in combat, there

were moments where the opponent's guard slipped and left the perfect opening. "What of
the notion that we live in an age of declining virtue?"

He said it as a phrase rather than a proper name, Suijindai, but Shomon followed the
reference regardless. She came bolt upright on the bench. "Individuals may fall from the
path of honor," she said, biting of each word, "but those who say that means honor itself
has lost value are only making excuses for their own weakness. The way of Bushidō was
given to us by the Kami Akodo himself, and it is a bulwark for our spirits regardless of the
age. If we fall short of its ideals, then we simply must strive all the harder to improve
ourselves. As the Arrow Sutra says, 'the path across the plain is easy, the path to the
peak hard; but only from the peak may we see far.' To claim the plain will lead one to a
higher vantage point is nothing more than delusion."

Her vehemence took him aback. Hiroue had seen the reports, patchwork and incomplete,
about the controversial sect that had taken root in Dragon lands. They called themselves
the Perfect Land, after the paradisiacal realm they claimed waited for believers after their
deaths. One of their core tenets was that aokugan had entered the Age of Declining
Virtue and that samurai were the cause, having strayed from their proper path.

The reports spoke of peasant armies assembling in the mountains to the north. Here in
ayokō Owari, Kitsuki Shomon openly trained heimin in hand-to-hand combat. It wasn't
difcult to imagine she might have something to do with the sect. But judging by her
reaction, the notion was nothing more than that—imagination.

Still, he had to be sure. "Don't the Dragon say there are many paths to the same
destination?"

"Some paths are false ones," Shomon snapped. "My own student—"

Hiroue flung up a hand before she could fnish that sentence, looking past Shomon, into
the darkness of the gardens. "Hush! I hear someone."
 In the Garden of Lies (Part II)

The gardens of the governor's manor were quiet. The sounds of laughter and music from
the main building seemed very far away. Afer a moment, Yogo Hiroue lowered his hand
and exhaled, tugging the embroidered sleeves of his kimono back into place. "Please
forgive me for interrupting you, Kitsuki-san. I heard someone passing nearby and did not
want them to misunderstand our conversation, hearing only part of it."

Kitsuki Shomon relaxed slowly. She had not reached for her blades, but he had no doubt
she could have drawn them in the blink of an eye if a real threat had emerged. "Thank
you, Yogo-san," she said. Her voice was much sofer now than it had been a moment
before. "As you can tell, this is a matter on which I feel passionately—but I should not
allow that to make me speak without restraint. It..." She hesitated, then went on. "It is a
pleasure, and a rare one, to speak with a member of your clan without feeling I am being
manipulated like a puppet on strings."

He pitied her. Kitsuki Shomon was a good and honorable soul; she did not belong in the
City of Lies, with its opium trade and its freman gangs and its courtiers who knew there
were ways and ways of manipulating someone, not all of them obvious.

Then again, reflecting on what she had said concerning peasants and Bushidō...perhaps
she felt this was exactly where she needed to be. Bringing the light of honor to a place
that saw it so rarely.

If so, he wished the Fortunes' blessings upon her. She would need them.

Shomon rose from the bench and bowed. "I have taken too much of your time," she said.
"And I would not want to give ofense to the governor by vanishing from her party for too
long."

Hiroue rose as well, laying aside his shamisen. "Tere is no need to apologize, Kitsuki-san. I
attend many of these parties, but I cannot say I've ever had a conversation quite like this
one. You have given me a great deal to think about." He glanced toward the main building
and contrived to look a touch embarrassed. "I will wait here a while longer. If we were to
return together, someone might draw the wrong conclusions about where you have been
—and what you have been doing." On any other night, with any other target, those
conclusions might be correct.

But not tonight, and the consideration made Shomon smile. "Thank you," she said
fervently. "Again."

They exchanged bows one last time, and then she turned and made her way through the
gardens, back to the bright lanterns of Shosuro-sama's party.

Hiroue waited until she had vanished inside, then sat down and began to play idly on the
shamisen. He truly did enjoy music, and the sound would mask his next conversation
against any prying ears that shouldn't be nearby.

Not even one leaf rustled as Shosuro Miyako materialized by his side. She wasn't dressed
in the stereotypical garb of a shinobi, but the muted grey of her jinbei blended seamlessly
into the darkness. Hiroue didn't even know where she had been hiding. None of the
stones or trees or bushes looked large enough to conceal a woman, no matter how small
and wiry. But then, he was not trained for such things.

"Why did you interrupt her?" Miyako asked. "There wasn't anyone approaching. And she
was on the verge of saying something about her student."

Hiroue shrugged and turned one of the shamisen's tuning pegs a minute degree. "We
already know about her student. They fought, and Satto left. According to current reports,
she's now very highly placed in the Perfect Land hierarchy up north. Kitsuki-san's
gratitude is worth more to me than any additional details she might have been able to
ofer about a woman she hasn't seen in years. You see, I have now shown myself to be
that rare breed of Scorpion: a man she can trust."

Miyako snorted sofly. She worked in the shadows and Hiroue in the light, but that didn't
make him any more honorable than she was. "So what was the point of this, then, if not
to fnd out more about Satto?"
"There have been suspicions that Kitsuki-san's argument with her student was staged,
and that she's been using her dōjō to recruit new followers to the Perfect Land, training
them for rebellion. If that were the case, it might indicate that the leadership of the
Dragon Clan supports the Perfect Land in secret." With any other clan, Hiroue would have
dismissed the idea out of hand. The preaching of the sect's leaders challenged the very
foundations of samurai dominance, blaming them for the Empire's mounting problems.
But the Dragon tolerance for eccentricity often led in surprising directions, and their clan
champions had given some inexplicable orders in the past. Hiroue could not put anything
past them—not without investigating frst.

This time, the investigation had led to a dead end. "She sounded sincere," Miyako said.

Hiroue nodded. "I think she was." Either that, or she's a good enough liar that she should
be invited to teach our own students. "It doesn't completely rule out Dragon support for
the sect, of course—but I think Kitsuki-san's dōjō can be crossed of the list."

"So what now?"

He laid one hand on the shamisen's strings, silencing them. "Now...now you go north."

Miyako was very good at stillness, but she turned to look at him. "My lord?"

"We know little about this sect, but what we do know worries me. I'm sending you to the
mountains. Disguise yourself as a peasant, infltrate the sect, and get as close as you can
to their leaders. I want to know what their goals are, and whether they have ties to the
Dragon beyond Satto having trained with Kitsuki-san." It could be useful leverage. The
Scorpion could sell what they knew, or ofer to remove the threat...or, if necessary, create
a spark in just the right place to turn this pile of tinder into a wildfre. Whatever served
their purpose best.

But only if they had more information.

Miyako bowed, lower than she ordinarily would. Her diction fell to match, into the speech
of a peasant. "I hear and obey, m'lord."
To the South (Part I)

A dusty wind blew across the village of Kosō, a flyspeck on the western edge of the
Empire. Shinjo Tatsuo closed his eyes against the grit, but opened them as soon as he
could. Until he established whether there was any real cause for concern, he didn't like
the possibility that something might sneak past him—or up on him.

When he opened his eyes, everything was quiet. After a swift glance around, he bent to
study the ground ahead of him, the land sloping down to a brush-flled hollow.

His ashigaru had fanned out to either side of him, likewise searching. In the distance he
heard a pair of voices, Iuchi aimei questioning the bent old woman who led this village.
He couldn't make out the words, but he didn't need to. The phrase "superstitious
peasants" had come up more than once on their ride here. One might expect aimei, as a
shugenja, to credit spiritual explanations more readily than the average samurai, but
instead the reverse was true. To her way of thinking, all strange sightings were wild
animals or drunken farmers until proven otherwise.

Still, their patrol had to investigate the rumors. A dead pig, odd sounds in the night, and
movement seen in the distance, near the edge of the forest.

A flattening of the dry grass caught Tatsuo's eye. He followed it to the brush, where he
found broken twigs littering the ground. No creature that large would have bothered to
wade into the brush...unless it was looking for a hidden place from which to observe the
village.

Tatsuo's sensei had, after several painful lessons, taught him to remain aware of all of his
surroundings, not just the trail in front of him. He straightened and turned before aimei
reached him. "Don't tell me you found something," she said with the resignation of one
who already suspected the answer.
She'd been working with the patrol long enough that she knew to give his position a wide
berth, lest she trample the tracks. Tatsuo showed her what he'd discovered. "Doesn't look
human," he said. "Or if it was, they were dragging something."

"Where does it lead?"

They followed the trail together, along a depression in the ground that would have
concealed the intruder from the village's sight. This thing is intelligent, Tatsuo thought.
On and on it went, until he halted aimei with a raised hand. "We should go back. Get the
horses and ashigaru before we continue."

She squinted at him, raising one hand to keep the sun from her eyes. "Continue? We're
close to the southern edge of our territory, and this thing is heading yet farther south. We
should report in, not chase it into lands that aren't our responsibility."

On paper, the lands to the south were Imperial possessions. In practice, virtually no one
lived out there except the occasional mad hermit or criminal fleeing justice. Neither of
which were supposed to be there—which meant no one was responsible for protecting
them.

"What if it comes back?" Tatsuo countered. "I don't know what this thing is, but it shows
signs of cunning. We were sent here to investigate; I won't consider that done until I've
found more than just a trail."

He outranked aimei, but Tatsuo knew better than to dismiss her opinions out of hand.
There were two of them in this patrol for a reason. A shugenja saw things diferently than
a bushi did, and ashigaru could hardly be expected to argue with samurai.

"How far, then? At what point will you say it's time to abandon the trail?"

Tatsuo grinned. "We're Unicorn, aimei-san. What is there in this world that we cannot run
down?"

aimei was too polite to make Tatsuo eat his words.

He could have blamed the ashigaru's horses, which were of lesser stock than his Naegi
and aimei's Irugel. But the truth was that whatever they were following, it was fast. And
like a gambler trying to make good his losses, Tatsuo couldn't bring himself to admit they
should give up—even as the leagues rolled by, one day after another, leading them south
and south and south, following the western edge of the Shinomen Mori.

The great forest was an emerald shadow to their left, primordial and wild, with untold
secrets hidden in its depths. Patrols like Tatsuo's, the Shinomen Wayfnders, kept an eye
on the forest's northern fringes in case anything emerged from it to trouble Unicorn lands.
But even they rarely ventured very far within. If the trail had dived into the heart of the
Shinomen, Tatsuo would have been forced to concede the chase. There were stories
about what happened to people who risked the forest's power, and few of them ended
well. He might come out a year later, or a century. Or not come out at all.

But the trail kept to the edges, dodging among the sparser clumps of trees where the
Unicorn's horses could follow without difculty. As if the creature valued speed over
concealment. And though he expected aimei to renew her arguments for giving up the
chase and reporting in, the farther they went, the more committed she became.

He found out why nearly a week into the pursuit, when he sat throwing knots of grass into
their tiny campfre and listing every creature he could think of that might be their quarry.

It was a short list. Animal spirits rarely moved with such purpose; hibagon never ventured
out of the forest; more malevolent things, like hungry ghosts or spirits of slaughter, would
not leave such a trail. When he came to the end of it, aimei said, "Have you thought
about where this thing is going?"

Tatsuo paused in the middle of knotting more grass. "What do you mean?"

She nodded her chin along their line of march. "It isn't chasing any other creature—none
that we've seen tracks for, at least. It isn't wandering, the way it would if it were
searching for something. I think this thing knows where it's going. And what's to the south
of us?" Nothing of note, until one reached the Twilight Mountains. Home to the minor
Falcon Clan—and the Crab.
Who guarded aokugan against the Shadowlands.

Te wind picked up again, tugging the strands of grass from Tatsuo's fngertips. There were
stories...the Moto had once sent an ill-fated expedition to the Shadowlands, trusting in
their horses and their blades to defeat whatever they found. The few who survived came
back with their hair bleached white from fear. Some people dismissed it all as
exaggeration, but the Shinomen Wayfnders had seen too many strange things for Tatsuo
to do the same. The enemies the Crab faced threatened more than just the body.

If some nightmare creature had found its way past the Kaiu Wall, it would discover in this
deserted western reach an easy road across the Empire to the territory of the Unicorn.

He focused once more on aimei, heart suddenly beating fast. "Then we have to warn our
lord. If we vanish, they won't realize the danger."

"aight now it's only a guess," aimei reminded him. "I have no proof. I'm not a Kuni; I don't
know how to make the kami tell me whether the thing we're following is corrupted. And
none of my talismans can help with that. If we raise the alarm and this turns out to be
nothing serious..."

The Wayfnders already had a dubious reputation. As with the Crab, their reports were
often too outlandish for others to believe, because those others had never seen the
Shinomen Mori with their own eyes. Tatsuo knew he shouldn't let the risk of
embarrassment afect his decision, but aimei had a point. aight now they had nothing to
report.

"Then we keep going," he said. "But the moment we're sure—"

She nodded. "I ride north."

No question that she would be the one to go. Only a rare few could learn the language of
Names to command the kami; compared to her, Tatsuo was disposable. If it came to that,
he would hold the creature of for as long as he could.
As if she could hear his thoughts, aimei said, "But let's make sure it doesn't come to
that."

Two days later, they saw smoke.

It came from within the forest, but not deep within, and it was too slender a column to be
a forest fre. The trail didn't lead directly toward it, though, and he glanced at aimei.
"What do you think?"

"We haven't managed to catch this thing in a direct chase yet," she said. "And they may
have seen something."

If they're human. Or spirits, he supposed; then it would be up to aimei to talk to them.

Except that—

aimei shook her head before he could even speak. "Not yet."

She was right. A fre wasn't proof of anything. aimei did not need to ride north yet.

They approached the edge of the forest. The trees here were ancient and tall, their trunks
bigger than Tatsuo and aimei together could circle with their arms. Their roots fanned out
in uneven ridges, with ferns growing between that hid unexpected dips in the ground.
aiding in there was just asking to lame one of their horses. Tatsuo gestured at Tama, the
youngest and least experienced of their ashigaru. "Wait here," he said. "If we haven't
returned by sunset, ride north. Take my horse, and use Irugel as a remount. Do you
understand?"

The youth swallowed and nodded. The rest of the ashigaru dismounted with the samurai
and proceeded on foot.

They moved slowly, watching their footing as much as the forest around them, knowing
that a wrong step could result in a fall that would give their position away. Before long
Tatsuo lost sight of his companions, and considered trying to regroup. He wasn't far from
the source of the smoke, though. Up ahead, three trees had staked out the top of a small
rise. If he could get up there—
There was no sound, no movement he could see, no shift in the wind. Just the hairs on the
back of his neck rising.

He whirled and brought his bow up to full draw.

Only to fnd himself facing the point of another arrow. And behind it, a woman in armor,
mufed so it would make no noise, with her face painted to blend with the forest.

In the clipped accent of the Crab Clan, she said, "Name yourself before I put this arrow
through you."
 To the South (Part II)

Given the reputation of the Shinomen Mori, Shinjo Tatsuo was almost prepared to believe
the sight in front of him was an illusion crafted by some trickster spirit.

At least two dozen Crab Clan ashigaru were hard at work felling timber, supervised by a
hatchet-faced samurai with a loose roll of papers under his arm. They'd been at work for
some time, judging by the pile of logs laid to one side, and they hadn't wasted any of the
branches, either. The excess had been transformed into a tidy palisade of fre-hardened
stakes. It was a logging expedition, clearly—but what was it doing in this ancient forest?

The Hiruma scout leading them into the camp wasn't very talkative. She detached a
group of their own ashigaru to watch over his, then led Tatsuo and aimei to her
commander, who set aside his papers as they approached. "Gunsō-san," the scout said,
with a brief bow. "These Unicorn were scouting our camp."

"We were investigating the smoke," Tatsuo corrected her. "I am Shinjo Tatsuo, a gunsō of
the Shinomen Wayfnders, and this is Iuchi aimei. We've been pursuing a creature that
was sighted outside a Unicorn village to the north, and thought that whoever was here
might be able to ofer assistance."

He was in charge of their patrol, but aimei was responsible for handling spiritual matters,
and she broke in. "What are your people doing here, anyway? Logging in the Shinomen
Mori—do you have any idea what spirits you might anger? Do you have any way of
controlling them?"

From behind them came another voice, touched with both humor and annoyance. "That
would be my job."

Tatsuo turned to fnd a second man approaching. He wore no armor, but his hakama and
tied-back sleeves had none of the usual formality of a shugenja's robes, either. If it
weren't for his unsettling face paint, white with red lines, Tatsuo would never have
identifed him as a Kuni. The newcomer eyed Tatsuo and aimei and said, "Shinomen
Wayfnders? I thought you Unicorn preferred the open plains."
"Our duties do not always take us where we prefer," Tatsuo said stify, turning back to
the commander. "Please forgive aimei's blunt way of asking—but the question stands. I
am glad to see a shugenja with your group, but there are a great many dangers in this
forest, and cutting down trees is a quick way to wake them."

The commander looked unmoved. "We know the risks. But as you say: our duties don't
always take us where we want. Heki is taking care to appease the spirits of the trees
before we cut them."

That must be the Kuni's name. "Aren't there trees in your own lands?"

"None that ft our needs," he said. "I am Kaiu Shuichi, an engineer in the Twelfth Tower
Command. We need large beams to conduct repairs on the northern end of the Carpenter
Wall, and there's nothing suitable closer to hand. We have Imperial permission to log
here."

No wonder the camp was so well constructed, with a Kaiu engineer in charge. But Tatsuo
had a feeling it wasn't just normal Crab paranoia that made them take such precautions—
a feeling that grew stronger when Shuichi spoke again. "This creature you're chasing.
What is it?"

He asked as if he already had an answer in mind. And given aimei's suspicions, Tatsuo
couldn't see any good reason to hold back. Courtiers might treat information like
treasure, to be hoarded and spent with care, but here in the hinterlands of the Empire, he
preferred to reach out with the hand of alliance. "We don't know," he admitted. "It's large,
and it leaves a broad, flat trail. And it's fast. We...the possibility has occurred to us that it
might be something from...further south." He couldn't quite bring himself to say Tainted.

"Impossible," Shuichi said, without hesitation. Before Tatsuo could write it of as

arrogance, he added, "We have Kogoe scouting the vicinity constantly, and Heki alert for
any sign of the Shadowlands Taint."

"But you have seen something," Tatsuo said.

Shuichi glanced past him, at the Hiruma scout—Kogoe, presumably. She said, "Seen, no.
However, several of our laborers have gone missing. Mostly without a trace, but in one
spot I found a brief track that sounds like what you're describing."

"How long ago?"

"Six days."

There was no way the creature Tatsuo had been chasing could have been here six days
ago; its trail wasn't that old. Which meant there was more than one. "What do you mean,
'a brief track'?"

"I don't mean that I lost it," she said evenly. "I mean that it stopped. And Heki doesn't
know of anything that flies and leaves a track like that. Do you?"

"No," aimei admitted. "We were following our trail not far from here; we only diverted
because we saw the smoke from your fre. If we go back and pursue that, we may fnd the
source of both our problem and yours."

That was optimistic of her, given their failure to chase the thing down yet, but Tatsuo was
even less willing than before to give up. He gazed past the palisade, into the forest. He
was sure it held the answers...if he was willing to risk getting them.

He'd already led his patrol far beyond the boundaries of his duty. And it was possible that
not one but two clans were at risk from this unknown threat.

"Kaiu-san," he said. "Obviously you have to devote most of your efort to protecting this
camp, which means you can't spare much for exploring the nearby forest. But we've
come all this way to investigate, and are more familiar with the hazards of the Shinomen
Mori than your own people. I will lead my patrol on a circuit through the area—and if we
fnd anything, we will share it with you before we return north."

"Gunsō-san!" aimei stared at him. Her abrupt shift to formality showed how much the
suggestion alarmed her. It was one thing to ride south, but to go deeper into the forest...
Tatsuo shook his head. "Not you. If Kaiu-san is willing, I will have you remain here in his
camp, until we return." Or until it was clear that they wouldn't.

Her expression was mutinous. "How do you expect to deal with a spirit when you have no
shugenja with you?"

"I have no intention of engaging with it at all. We will scout only." He knew as well as she
did that plans like that rarely worked out—but he wasn't going to be responsible for losing
her to the forest.

Kuni Heki intervened. "If you stay here, Iuchi-san, we might be able to work together and
learn more from the spirits. And if your intention is to scout, Shinjo-sama—" He turned to
his own commander. "Could we lend him Kogoe-san?"

Tatsuo couldn't deny she would be useful, given how efectively she'd crept up on him. He
bowed to Shuichi. "The reputation of the Hiruma is well known in Unicorn lands. I would
be grateful for the assistance."

Shuichi nodded. "Find me what's causing this, and fnd a solution." He only had the
authority to command Kogoe, but he seemed to be addressing both scouts
indiscriminately. "We can't aford to lose any more people or time."

Tatsuo had to admit that Hiruma Kogoe was far more at home in the forest than he was.
There were trees in Unicorn lands, of course, and he'd been in and out of the fringes of
the Shinomen Mori for years—but his ancestors made their home on the plains, and he
never felt comfortable being hemmed in like this.

She didn't know nearly as much about the Shinomen as he did, though. "There aren't a
lot of friendly things where I usually patrol," she admitted after she nearly shot a rabbit
spirit. It faded away an instant before her arrow would have struck. "We're trained to
assume anything we see is probably dangerous."

"Wayfnders learn the same thing," Tatsuo said, "but we generally try to avoid
confrontation. In the Shinomen, 'dangerous' and 'needs to be killed' aren't always the
same thing. Most creatures in the forest will leave you alone if you don't trouble them."
"When we fnd this thing," Kogoe said darkly, "I'm not giving it the beneft of the doubt."

He couldn't blame her. But it would be a moot point if they couldn't fnd the creature. Or
creatures—however many of them there were.

Kogoe was the one who fgured it out in the end, proving his sensei's admonition once
more. Stopping Tatsuo with one outstretched hand, she breathed a few words, almost too
quiet to hear. "I think they move through the trees."

Once he looked for it, he saw it, too. Fallen leaves and twigs on the ground, and up above,
branches stripped suspiciously bare. It could have been hibagon, the reclusive ape-men
who haunted the forest—but they swung by their arms, and wouldn't leave this kind of
damage. Without a word, he nocked an arrow to his bow. Kogoe did the same.

Not long after, they heard a sound up ahead. Not the chattering of animals or their spirit
kin, and not the weeping of some creature in the form of a woman or a baby, hoping to
lure the unwary to their doom. Two diferent sounds, alternating with one another—like
voices in conversation. But the cadence of it was nothing like aokugani.

He and Kogoe separated, so that if one of them were spotted the other could attack or
escape. And then, placing one careful foot at a time, Tatsuo crept forward.

The voices were coming from a small dell with a quiet, shadowed pool at the center. Two
tall boulders stood alongside the pool, narrow outcroppings from some larger mass of
stone below—

One of the boulders moved.

Not stone. A creature—two of them—each easily ffteen feet in length, rearing up from
their long tails. They were speaking in a hissing, liquid language like nothing Tatsuo had
heard before.
Perhaps his nerve failed him at this crucial moment, faced with a pair of giant serpent
creatures that his mind screamed must have come straight from the Shadowlands. Tatsuo
didn't think he'd made a sound...

But one of them stopped talking, and turned to look directly at him.
 The Fate of Flames

Curling wisps of smoke escaped the jaws of the stone lion, heavy with the scents of
cinnamon and sandalwood. Matsu Tsuko inhaled deeply, fghting of a cough that
threatened to interrupt the deep, solemn chanting. This was her world now: the darkened
tent; the funeral chants; the haze of the incense; and the helmet in her hands, its metal
warmed by her constant touch. As a child, she had dreamed of holding something so
precious as part of the ancestral armor of the Lion Clan. A wish wreathed her heart,
insubstantial as the smoke, that she could give it back, for Arasou to still be wearing it
proudly.

Akodo Arasou, Champion of the Lion Clan and the man she would have married, lay on a
pallet before her, clad in spotless white funerary robes, right side folded crisply over the
left, hands folded over his still chest. The armor he should have been wearing stood like a
hollow, headless corpse in the corner, following the body of its former owner like a ghost
until his burial. Tsuko's fngers tightened on the only piece of it that would not be passed
along, her right thumb resting on the curled metal where the arrow had exited, even as
her gaze rested on the cloth covering her beloved's eyes.

The snap of Doji Hotaru's bow. Arasou's body in my arms, turned to face the sky—one eye
sightless, the other a ruin—and the false tears in Hotaru's own eyes as she turned and
fled back into Toshi aanbo, the city the faithless Crane had stolen. Toturi staring at
Hotaru's exit, slow and numb as he ever was, watching uselessly as his brother's
murderer ran and closed the gates behind her—

"Tsuko-sama!" A voice broke into her thoughts, tinged with concern. "Your hand..."

Tsuko looked down suddenly, pain breaking through the hot haze of her fury, and she
pulled her hand away from the helmet. A deep cut, torn from the ragged edge of the
helmet's ruin, ran along the meat of her right thumb and wept a red tear along her arm.
She gave a small sigh of annoyance and took the cloth her companion handed to her,
nodding in thanks.
Kitsu Motso tilted his head sympathetically. "All good Lion mourn the death of Akodo
Arasou. While I do not wish to speed his journey to Yōjin no Shiro further than protocol
demands, I do worry that you torment yourself with this delay."

Tsuko fnished wrapping the small injury and stood, shaking her head. "That pain is the
fre that forges my rage into something useful, Motso-san."

Motso's smile was barely a suggestion. "You are crafting some weapon, perhaps? A sword
of agony, and great blade of the Lion?"

Tsuko let out a bitter chuckle as she placed the helmet back on its stand. "One is
desperately needed. Even in death, Arasou has more direction than his brother." Her
fngers lingered against the metal a moment, and she shut her eyes against any tears
that might arrive. There will be justice. It will consume those who took you from me. She
opened her eyes again, fxing an intense gaze on Motso, and even he seemed
discomfted by its heat. "Until the Osari Plains are reclaimed from the Crane's clutches, I
cannot rest—and neither can his spirit."

As servants busied themselves clearing the vestiges of the service, Tsuko exited the tent,
Motso at her heels, to the welcome sound of an army preparing for war. Organized lines
of Lion troops conducted near-constant drills with swords, spears, bows, and even hand-
to-hand. All our lives, we of the Lion practice war. How many of us have truly faced it?
How many would run bravely forth, as the greatest of us once did, and how many would
hesitate as others died? Her face grew even grimmer. They must drill until thought and
action are one—empty of indecision and fear, full of determination. They shall not fail as
Toturi did. Her gaze was fre. As I shall not.

The pair had almost reached the ofcers' tents when a young Matsu bushi approached
them, a strange look in her eyes somewhere between joy and worry. "Forgive this
interruption, my lady, but there are a group of rōnin waiting to speak with you. They say
they captured Shirei Mura!"

Kitsu Motso gave a small sound of curiosity. Beside him, Tsuko stifened and frowned.
"aōnin? Who hired them?"
The bushi glanced around uneasily, and lowered her voice until it was hardly audible.
"They said the Lion Clan did, my lady."

Tsuko's mouth drew into a thin line. "Motso-san—go to these rōnin and tell them to wait
outside my tent. I will receive them when I am ready." Her gaze held a quiet heat. "And
continue the preparations for battle tomorrow."

Tsuko didn't wait around to see Motso deal with the rōnin, or even to dismiss the awkward
young bushi, instead stalking directly into her tent. Servants looked up, startled at the
look on the woman's face, but obeyed with quick, respectful nods at her demands to start
a fre and bring out preparations for tea. As her attendants hurried about their tasks,
another servant helped Tsuko don her armor. The lioness's eyes were fxed not on the
bindings, but on the flint and steel clicking sparks into the hungry kindling.

aōnin. A wince fluttered over her features as her new wound twitched while she laced a
greave. I was not told of this. And if Motso had heard of such a command, he gave no
sign. He is already acting against Toturi's orders by riding with me now, enabling my
delay to lay Arasou to rest. This is not him. A spark caught, and a small flame leaped,
sending the scent of burning rice stalks into the air, dried refuse from the felds around
them. Neither is this Toturi's doing. Even he is not so without honor as to hire rōnin—or
more likely, he is not so decisive.

A sudden hiss escaped her lips, and she looked down to see blood spotting the cloth over
her wound. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Tsuko unbound and washed the cut,
binding it again with deliberate care. She moved to pick up her helmet, but paused, her
hand against its white mane, then left it sitting on the rack. I shall see these rōnin plainly,
and hear their say.

"Show them in," she ordered, and went to stand near the fre as the servants bowed and
exited the tent. A short time later, the tent flap opened, and four people—one in the lead,
and the other two dragging a bound and hooded prisoner—stepped inside. The leader
immediately regarded Tsuko with a grin, and flourished a bow that was both too low and
too ungraceful. A man unused to dealing with authority.
"Lady Tsuko, fearsome daimyō of the Matsu, I greet you," the rōnin declared, his tone as
oily as his thin dark hair and white-touched mustache. "I am Kujira, master of the Warriors
of the Boar, and I have two gifts for you today. First among them is Shirei Village,
captured by myself and my troops. And the second—" He jerked his head at his
attendants, who unceremoniously dragged forth the prisoner to stand beside Kujira. "—is
this fne specimen."

With a flourish he yanked of the hood of the fourth fgure, causing a mess of long white
hair to spill everywhere. Tsuko's heart stopped for a moment, and she hardly realized she
had her hand on the hilt of her sword before she recognized the individual. Not Doji
Hotaru, but Kuwanan, her brother. Why in Heaven's name is he here?

Kujira's rough bleating laughter jarred her out of the moment. "Never fear, Matsu-sama,
this one had the fght knocked pretty well out of him, and I tied those bonds myself," he
snorted, tucking his thumbs under the rough leather belt that held his ill-ftting armor
onto his wide frame. "Even a large bird breaks easily when you batter it around a bit, eh?"

Tsuko stepped forward, her dark eyes locking onto Kuwanan's pale ones. Though strong
and heavyset, the heir to the Crane Clan had seen better days. The hitched breathing told
of at least one broken rib, and bruises spotted vivid purple on his skin. He wore a simple
set of pale garments and armor padding, both stained with grime and splattered with
blood.

"A skillful capture, to take him alive," Tsuko found herself saying, not removing her eyes
from Kuwanan's. "And you say you took the village as well?"

"Aye, hardly lost a man in the fght, too." Kujira snorted, obviously proud of himself. "Sent
a group of my best thunderin' in on their horses, got the peasants and a mess of Crane
troops scared inside the walls. This one and a few of his archers hung out to cover their
retreat...and they didn't do so bad, either, killed more'n their fair share! But archers don't
outrun horses so well, especially when we had our own in those felds, disguised as
farmers. He and his troops didn't even see my men coming before we had them netted
like honking geese. After that it was just a simple matter of fnding who was worth your
time, and killing the rest."
Tsuko's eye twitched, but her gaze didn't waver. "And the village?"

Kujira's voice grated like cicadas in summer. "That was the best part. Got half my men
into the dead Crane gear, tied up the rest like prisoners. Called up to the villagers like we
was successful—another bit of cunning, getting the Crane pass-phrases for safe travel—
and once we had them all together, we killed every Crane we could fnd and any peasant
stupid enough to try and hide'em. Maybe one or two got away, but that just lets the
Crane learn how badly they were beaten by the Lion...and the Warriors of the Boar."

One of the rōnin holding Kuwanan snickered, and his half-toothed smile grew wider as
Tsuko's sword left its sheath with a slow song of oiled metal. The Crane samurai did not
flinch, even as Kujira gave a dark chuckle. "Figured you might wanna ransom him, or we
would'a done the job for you—but then again, I heard what his sister did to your man. Not
a bad idea, trading a death for a death."

Tsuko's eyes searched Kuwanan's. No fear, rage, or false tears lived in them. Just an
intensity, watching her as she did him, waiting. Tsuko glanced at Kujira, whose nose
seemed to be twitching in anticipation of bloodshed. "The Warriors of the Boar," she said
slowly. "Not named for the lost Boar Clan, I would imagine."

Kujira looked confused a moment, then gufawed. "What? There was a Boar Clan?" The
large rōnin shook his head, armor clanking. "We're just 'boar' for wealth—of which we
certainly got our share in this shakeup, believe it. Not a lot of Crane to go around, but
those pretty little weapons of theirs kill just as well. And while them peasants don't have
much, those sneaky bastards got prizes hidden where you least expect it." The half-
toothed rōnin started to chuckle darkly as Tsuko placed the blade of her sword against
Kuwanan's shoulder.

"You were correct about one thing, leader of the Warriors of the Boar," she said pointedly.
"There is a death that will set things on a better path."

The big man grinned—which lasted, eerily, even after Tsuko's strike, which opened up his
neck almost to the spine.
The other rōnin cried out in horror as Kujira's body slumped to the ground, blood pooling
in dark clouds against the dirt. In an instant, Tsuko's blade was leveled at them, and they
held up their hands in surrender.

"Spare us!" howled the half-tooth. "I don't wanna die!"

"Neither did the people of Shirei Mura, but I'm sure you slew them all the same."

"Please," pleaded the young rōnin to the left, who hardly looked past boyhood. "I swear,
we're not all like Kujira was. Not all of us plundered!"

Tsuko fxed him with a long look. "Then you are responsible for fnding Kitsu Motso,
making certain all of your troops surrender to him, and returning all that you have stolen.
Those who have committed violence against the people of Lion lands—and Shirei Mura is
of the Lion—must sufer the appropriate penalties." The young rōnin nodded, and he and
his whimpering companion swiftly exited the tent, dragging the remains of the boastful
Kujira behind them.

The tent flap had barely closed before the blade sang through the air a second time,
separating rope fbers with a precise and dangerous grace. Kuwanan glanced downward
as the bonds fell from his arms and slowly rubbed at his bruised wrists. Tsuko pointed her
blade to a space at the side of the tent, separated by a paper screen. "Water there, and
clean clothes. Do as you will."

When Kuwanan fnally stepped from behind the screen, sand had been scattered across
the bloody ground until such time as they could repitch her tent. Tsuko sat next to the
brazier, sipping at a cup of tea. She gestured to a camp stool across from her, and
wordlessly watched Kuwanan sit, mindful of his wounds, and gratefully take the tea in his
hands. It was a long moment—punctuated only briefly by small sips of the beverage and
the crackle of the flames—before anyone spoke.

"Why did you spare me?" said Doji Kuwanan carefully.

Tsuko took her eyes from the teacup to meet his. "Your capture was an act of trickery, a
vile deception against you. I would not answer that with more dishonor." She took a long
sip of tea, and pride strengthened her voice like steel. "The Lion do not deceive, or steal.
We take what we want by strength of honor, or not at all."

She regarded him carefully before taking another drink. "And I am not a beast that I
should kill any Crane I encounter of the battlefeld. I should sooner hate a sword for the
actions of its wielder, or blame an arrow"—she cursed herself inwardly for her sudden
cough, her throat smarting from too large a sip of the tea—"...an arrow for where its
archer sent it."

Another long moment of quiet stretched across the tent, which Kuwanan again broke. "I
am deeply sorry for Ara—for the death of Akodo-sama." The man's voice was halting,
strange coming from someone so well-built. "I trained with him, admired his skill and
courage." The man's gaze slid towards the flames of the brazier, his tone bitter. "You are
not the only one who is angry at a wrongful death, Tsuko-sama." Her nod was slow,
understanding.

"It is still unknown how he died, then? Your father—forgive me—Champion Doji Satsume?"

"There is belief by some that my sister's assertions of natural causes are enough."
Kuwanan's tone was stretched as the skin on a drum. "But honor demands more, simply
as a matter of course. If we do not hold to Bushidō...

"We are little better than the rōnin I slew," fnished Tsuko, fnishing her cup of tea. "I know
too well why Toturi did not act in the battle of Toshi aanbo—he is weak, and foolish. But if
Hotaru can accept the horrible duty of the Crane Clan Champion and kill Akodo
Arasou...what is preventing her from performing her more important duty: investigating
your father's untimely death?"

Kuwanan's gaze dropped from Tsuko's, into the depths of his teacup. The silence hung
around them like a haze of smoke, and Tsuko's eyes returned to the flames in the brazier
before her. Deliberately, she prodded the glowing coals with a metal rake, small sparks
hissing in diferent directions.

Damn this feeling of unease, she snarled inwardly. Were it that I had met this Crane on
the battlefeld—to see our forces surge around and consume them, and been done with it.
To have taken Shirei Mura back myself, and made the Crane pay for their presumption in
blood!

Her hand twitched, and Tsuko's gaze fell on the gore-spattered floor near the tent flap.
Vile rōnin. Striking at our enemy in Lion's name—and supposedly paid from our cofers?
Her rage itched at her, insistent as a hungry flame. Why would we sink so low to hire such
scoundrels? And why would they know who Kuwanan was when they captured him—and
why not simply ransom him themselves? What else were they trying to gain—she
swallowed a snarl—or what is someone trying to take from me?

Beneath the tines of the rake, the flames in the brazier were slowly dying. The sounds of
a far greater fre—the readying of her army for war—echoed beyond the cloth of her tent.

She could not kill Doji Kuwanan, not now.

But she could meet him again on the felds of battle and settle this score in honorable
combat, avenging Arasou, reclaiming the Osari Plains, and proving herself Toturi's better.

Or she could send Kuwanan to Hotaru, where he could confront his sister for her failure of
Bushidō and potentially help Tsuko uncover the identity of those who were playing them
all as pawns.

Duty and Loyalty demanded she avenge Arasou's death. aighteousness demanded she
bring the deceivers to justice.

The very honor of the Lion was at stake, and it fell to her to uphold it, even if Akodo Toturi
would not.
 Better to be Certain

Hiruma Shizuyo didn't set her camp until the shadows of the parched landscape no longer
matched whatever cast them. Even her own shadow was tall and branched, like a flawed
oak stripped to the bark.

This was the game the Shadowlands played.

She sorted her supplies and numbered her cache of arrows with paper blessings tied to
their shafts. She left everything on the cart and released the ox to return to the Wall
without her. As she watched it go, her fngers brushed the smooth jade pendant hanging
from her neck—the one thing that wasn't expendable.

She spent the day setting bell-adorned tripwires and driving standing torches into the
cracked ground around the camp. Memorizing the terrain would be futile; it would just
shift when she looked away. Only the landmarks she left would remain consistent.

When the sun touched the west horizon, she lit the torches, nose wrinkling at the scent of
fsh oil and pine. Aching from a day spent in armor, she started a campfre by her tent
and planted her tetsubō like a banner. Fair warning. Then, facing the south, she sat and
waited.

The wind was barely audible beneath the sliver of pale indigo moon. Nothing stirred
beyond her bubble of campfre light, not even the sparse patches of dead grass. After a
time, she pulled a stack of cards from her satchel and shufed them. She dealt herself a
single card from the bottom of the deck. An ink-wash depiction of a barbed tapeworm, a
diamond of white space forming an inhuman mouth, leered at her from the card.

"Tsumunagi," she said. "Hides in supplies. Kill with fre or smother with jade oil."

The next card of the bottom revealed a hulking creature of muscle and sinew, a yawning
toothy mouth where its head should have been.

"Kanu's Oni. Engage from afar. Use jade arrows, or exploit the narrow windpipe."
Another card. A segmented shell and a mass of cockroach limbs capped with human
hands.

"Gokimono. Once human. Compelled to extinguish lights. Kill with—"

A bush warbler's whistle rose from beyond her camp. By the end of the trill, it was a
human voice, mournful in its wordless cry. Shizuyo raised her eyes. No movement except
the flickering shadow of her tetsubō. She inched closer.

Another card. A splotchy human walking in splintered armor, one eye just an empty
socket.

"Hyakuhei. Animated corpse." She stared into the dancing flames. "Kill as you would a
man."

Shizuyo ignored her spine's dull ache and the burn beneath her eyelids as she prodded
the traps beneath a morning sun painted a sick shade of purple. An uneventful night
spent in her armor left her limbs heavy and stif. Her body cried for sleep, but it wouldn't
be safe until the hour furthest from the Hour of Ox—the hour sometimes written as the
Hour of Fu Leng.

Only one trap had caught something: a trembling white and tan fluf with slender ears.
The rabbit was tangled in the sling, helpless. It cast Shizuyo a pleading look.

She narrowed her eyes.

The hare twitched, as if trying one last time to wrench free. She slammed her tetsubō
down. There was a wet crunch, like a stomped kabocha squash. She exhaled until any
remorse was gone.

It was better to be certain.

The campfre had seen Shizuyo identify thirty-fve creatures in her demon deck before a
tinny bell clatter broke the silence. In the night beyond, one of the pin-prick torches
blinked out.

She strung her bow and collected her arrows. In the distance, something skittered into
the light of the next torch. Before the light was extinguished, she barely caught sight of
spindly cockroach limbs and human hands.

A cold gasp froze her. The creature had come from the south, the direction of the
caravan.

Her fngers found her pendant. The jade would kill it. Just one touch...

No. Not if this was it.

Shizuyo readied an arrow and pointed at the next-closest torch. She counted to fve, then
released. The torch went dark. Something screamed.

Another arrow found it at the next-nearest torch. In the one after, she saw the arrow
shafts protruding from its glossy plates. Five torches yet to go. Then would be the
campfre. And then...

Another arrow. Then another. Again and again. Now it scrambled, faster, closer. Its outline
grew against the night sky, blotting out the stars with its darkness. Her racing heart
tightened as she launched the last arrow as the fnal torch, a mere hundred feet away,
went suddenly dark.

A shriek. A dull thud. Silence.

Shizuyo carried a piece of the campfre to the horror's motionless body. The arrows were
deeply embedded, their written blessings now blank scraps. She could recover none.

She held her breath as she fnally brought her makeshift torch to where the killing arrow
protruded from the eye of its human face.
It wasn't him.

She tossed the torch onto the body and returned to camp.

Shizuyo startled awake. Ashes floated against a midday sky. She spat a curse. An entire
morning wasted, no time to replace the used traps. She cannibalized the cart for frewood
as the sun dragged a crimson path into the western ridge. Then she lit the remaining
torches. Even with the soreness in her bones, it didn't take long.

Hours dragged in silence, and the campfre slowly ate away at itself. Firelight glinted
along the jade pendant as she turned it over. The dreamlike image of the hare slipped
into her mind—its prone body and desperate eyes. She shook her head and the vision
tumbled away. Maybe it had really been a hare. Maybe it hadn't. The only way to be sure
was to use her jade.

A faint bell. One of her surviving traps, far from the remaining torches. Again. She
frowned. She took her tetsubō and stepped into the dark.

The trap was triggered, but there was nothing there. Her fngers brushed clawed grooves
in the dirt, numbing with slow realization.

She spun around and sprinted back to the campfre, but she was too late. Her tent
blackened in the fery column, her supplies crackling in the heat. She gritted her teeth at
the high-pitched laughter. Goblinoid forms dancing around the flames, their spindly
shadows entwined. Bakemono. Three of them. One tossed her cards into the fre with her
remaining torches. It laughed again.

She caught up to it and smashed it with her tetsubō. It went silent.

The remaining two turned, wide-eyed gazes flicking from Shizuyo to their dead comrade.

They shrieked.

Her fngers slipped from the tetsubō handle as one charged into her, knocking her
backward. Her armor cracked and the wind was pushed from her lungs. Claws raked her
cheek as the thing shrieked, again and again. Her hand darted to her hip, but her
wakizashi's sheath was empty. She grit her teeth and tore the frenzied thing away,
hurling it into the bonfre. Screams pierced the night.

She started to roll to her feet, but the last goblin leapt into her chest. Her blade flashed in
the creature's hands, slicing through her armor swing by swing. She reached for her
tetsubō, but she could only graze the handle. The goblin arched its back, mangled blade
above its head, readying a death blow. It roared in triumph.

The jade pendant. She had no choice. She tore it free and crammed it into the creature's
maw.

The goblin flailed, shrieking, clawing its face, as if a burning coal were in its mouth. With
new energy, Shizuyo lunged for her tetsubō. Spinning, she brought it down. The goblin's
head broke like an egg.

aagged breaths shook her. The pendant was now black, oozing in its ruined jaw.

She smashed its face again. And again. Over and over, until she had only the strength to
curse the Fortunes.

It wasn't until dusk that movement on the southern horizon caught Shizuyo's gaze: a thin
silhouette limping slowly toward her camp's charred remains, its navy blue cloak tattered
and stained. Human.

She rose, watching his slow progress, her heart beating in tandem with his heavy steps.

He didn't look up until the sun was nearly gone, twilight painting the landscape in purple
hues. He froze, spotting her, just a short distance away. His cracked lips parted.

"Mother?"

His eyes, amber like his father's, lit up. The tattered cloak fell as he ran. "Mother! Thank
the gods! I thought I would never see you again!"
She narrowed her eyes.

He slowed to a stop, confusion flickering across his face. The tetsubō handle pressed
against her palm.

"Mother? What are you...?" He shook his head. "It's me, Mother! Hiruma Kenjirō. Your
son!"

She did not react.

His amber eyes searched the ground. "We never reached Hiruma Castle. I'm the only one
left. I was determined to survive, to see Yukino again. She is well, yes?" He smiled weakly.
"We're getting married in spring. aemember? You insisted on spring..."

Her chest was like a rope twisted too tight. Insects were screaming. The sun bled over the
peaks. She didn't recognize his shadow. She didn't recognize hers.

His smile faded. "T-take me to the Kuni shugenja," he stammered. "I am well! I can prove
it." He reached for her with pleading eyes. "Mother—"

She slammed the tetsubō into his face. His skull crumpled like a hollow shell. He fell.

Her shadow blanketed his prone body. He jerked, as if trying to see from his now-empty
socket. His wet scream broke the night.

The tetsubō came down. Then, only her shuddering heart made any sound.

Shizuyo cradled jade beads as the Kuni shugenja with red and white face paint plucked a
black thread from her hair and held it taut beneath his flaring nostrils. Cavalry Master
Hida Tsuru sat before her with crossed arms. She lingered on the courtyard gates, lungs
nearly bursting from her held breath.

"Is it done?"

She nodded.
"Are you sure?"

She raised her expressionless gaze. "I made certain." The wind carried specks of ash
across the red sky. Somewhere, a bonfre was burning.

The Kuni snatched the beads and raked a prolonged look over her palms. She didn't
flinch. At last, he let her go. "No sign of the taint, Tsuru-sama. Even so, she should be
quarantined at the shrine for seven days of cleansing."

"Make the arrangements."

After the shugenja left, Tsuru ofered Shizuyo a thin scroll. She accepted it with limp
fngers. Inside was her son's new name, the name they would use whenever they
remembered him. His old name was tainted now.

"My condolences," he said. "We will erect a marker in his memory. Although the caravan
never reached its destination, you should be proud. He died serving the Crab Clan." He
rose to leave.

"It looked just like him."

He paused.

She wavered. "It had his voice. It...knew things." Again, she met his gaze. "It even called
me 'mother.'"

"That is the game the Shadowlands plays. It wears the faces of our loved ones to sow our
hearts with doubt. But that thing was a pretender. It could not have been human."
Kneeling again, Tsuru laid his hand on her shoulder. "After all, if it was repelled by the
burning pine inside the torches, recoiled from your arrows, and burned at the touch of
your jade, then it could not have been your son." Before her paling face, he gave a
reassuring smile. "At least of that, you can be certain."
 The Fires of Justice

It took one of the embers snapping beneath the pressure of the iron rake—a little crack
and a feather of flame—to break Matsu Tsuko out of her reverie. She did not start or
flinch, but she could tell from the slight shift of the man across from her that the change
in her demeanor did not go unnoticed.

Her eyes flicked again to the edge of the room, near the tent flap, and fell on the hastily
strewn sand scattered across a pool of blood half-soaked into the earth. That blood had
been—until very recently—inside the body of a detestable rōnin named Kujira, who had
committed dishonorable acts to capture both the village of Shirei Mura and the prisoner
across from her. A band of rōnin hired by Lion to butcher a Lion village, she thought, and
her teeth were set on edge. That cannot be.

She dared a look at the man, who was making a quiet show of fnishing his tea from a cup
that had been empty for several minutes now: though trained by so many clans, Doji
Kuwanan was still a Crane, and she suspected his heart would fail him before his
politeness did.

A sudden gust of wind stirred the tent flap, and Tsuko felt her eyes fxing on the image
painted upon it—a lion stalking through the tall grass. They were lions here, on the Osari
Plains, stalking and running down their prey, reclaiming what was theirs.

"I do not know who hired those rōnin," Tsuko admitted aloud, her eyes locking with
Kuwanan's. "And I do not even know if I was expected to care. I have a suspicion I was
meant to kill you, that someone thought my rage would demand it." She breathed deeply,
and squeezed the wound on her right hand to remind her of that cost, the pain a
steadying force. "Someone has treated us as pawns."

Doji Kuwanan's face darkened suddenly, but resolved into confusion as he fought away
any hint of insult. "You are certain?"

Tsuko pursed her lips. "It is the uncertainty of the situation that gives me pause," she said
carefully. "I did not know you would be at Shirei Mura—I don't know if any of the Lion did,
or at least they did not see ft to tell me. And I knew nothing of these rōnin, either. It was
expected that I...that I would be going to Yōjin no Shiro, to bury my betrothed. But..."
Anger flared in her at the memory of the meeting in the war pavilion after the disaster at
Toshi aanbo. The denunciation of Matsu Agetoki, of Akodo Toturi's condescension—to her
pain and not to her point—and even Kitsu Motso's own reluctance to engage.

"I imagine that few believed I would simply obey and travel straight there," Tsuko
continued. "Someone might have assumed well enough that the Osari Plains would be
foremost in my attentions."

"And revenge," added Kuwanan quietly. Tsuko nodded slowly, and he looked down a
moment, digesting this, and shook his head in disgust. "To use your grief—and at the
death of so great a man—is reprehensible." There was a long silence, stretched like a
fading wisp of smoke. "So what would you have us do?" he fnally asked.

"My duty is to my people, to my clan, and to my champion," she admitted. "I am bound to
this. To rid the rōnin from Shirei Mura, to travel to Yōjin no Shiro and lay Akodo Arasou to
rest, and fnally—to return and reclaim the Osari Plans as Lion lands.

"But right now, your life is at my mercy." Kuwanan bristled slightly, but she raised a hand
for understanding, and he relaxed. "We both honor Bushidō. And we respect each other.
And as you hate the idea of me being used as a pawn, so do I loathe that you may be as
well.

"I ask you to address the demand of your heart, and to answer for yourself the question
you could not answer for me." She felt the heat rise on her face as her fst clenched and
pain shot up her arm. "Ask Doji Hotaru, Champion of the Crane Clan, killer of my beloved
—ask your sister why she does not do as duty demands and investigate the death of your
father."

Tsuko took a deep breath. "A storm of strange fates has brought us together. But if
someone believes you have a question to ask that carries a danger to it even being
voiced..." Her eyes bored into Kuwanan's. "Then perhaps someone saw worth in trying to
have you silenced."
The stars had begun to show their faces when Matsu Tsuko and Doji Kuwanan exited the
tent, the latter clad as a simple merchant, straw hat drawn low, his telltale white hair
bound up and away from view. The horse he mounted was perhaps too fne a specimen
for an ordinary merchant, and the rider's bearing too proud, but Tsuko hoped he would
reach his destination before anyone grew overly suspicious.

"This arrangement is still very odd," Kuwanan admitted as he slid into the saddle with a
wince, "but I understand its wisdom. Friend or foe, perhaps it is best I remain unseen."

"It is strange for me as well," Tsuko admitted, passing over the reins of the animal. "But
our cause is righteous. You will disappear from Shirei Mura—"

"And appear in Kyūden Kakita with a tale of escaping my foolish rōnin captors," Kuwanan
fnished. "I am no playwright, but I should have a serviceable story assembled by the
time I reach the city. And I know someone with an even greater talent for words who will
be waiting for me at the castle." Tsuko nodded, barely perceptible in the low light, and
another pause followed: a familiar tempo.

"Farewell, Tsuko-sama," Kuwanan said at last.

"Sayonara, Kuwanan-sama."

She watched his retreating fgure until it was lost from sight and the soft echo of
hoofbeats had vanished into the night air. In his retreat, an image rose unbidden to
Tsuko's mind: a swallow with its tail on fre, returning in panic to its home—only to set the
whole of it ablaze.

A dark part of her wondered how the conflagration would begin, even as she dimly hoped
Kuwanan would be smart enough to survive it. And if those flames would be enough to
burn away the artifce of their enemies.
 The Stories We Tell

"First, I know that you are a wise man, and I wish the world to share that wisdom. I am
certain that you can bring the dead to life on our wedding day."

Doji Shizue stopped and frowned. Her delivery was perfect, but the gesture with the fan
needed work. At this point in the story Doji-no-Kami was scornful of Kakita, but her heart
would soon turn toward him, and her telling had to reflect that. When one had the
opportunity to tell stories for an Imperial prince, only perfection would do.

Over and over she practiced, the fan sweeping through the air like a graceful bird, until
she found the exact path that simultaneously expressed Lady Doji's grace and subtle
condescension.

"Second, I know you are a knowledgeable man..." A discreet knock on the frame of the
door interrupted her, and Shizue fought the impulse to throw her fan at the door. How
could she practice amidst all these distractions?

"I am very sorry Shizue-sama," the servant in the hallway said. "But two letters have just
arrived—they are from your siblings."

The temple to Fukurokujin, the Fortune of Wisdom, was the same as it had always been,
with polished wood gleaming in candlelight and the scent of incense heavy in the air. As
Shizue walked to the inner sanctuary, the weight of long centuries of prayer and
meditation settled around her like armor, but the words contained within the two letters
stung like an open wound.

Shizue stopped before the gilded image of the Fortune and composed herself for prayer.
She clapped her hands twice, and bowed. "Gracious Fukurokujin, wisest of Fortunes, hear
me. Guide my thoughts, so that I may bring honor to my clan and my ancestors. Aid me
in being a true daughter of Lady Doji." Shizue paused. Did she dare speak the words
aloud? But how else would the Fortune hear? "Grant me your wisdom to discern the truth
in the matter of Lord Satsume's death."
The candlelight wavered as if in a breeze. Her sister's words echoed in the silence.

We cannot aford to act rashly in this matter. And to jump to the implication of murder is
truly rash! We must allow the Emerald Magistrates to conduct their own investigation,
and then the Crane shall stand by their verdict. They are the agents of the Emperor, and
the arbiters of his laws. Let them do their duty, and we shall see to ours.

So it seemed that Hotaru was content to stay her hand—for now. But what had she and
Bayushi Kachiko, the Imperial Advisor, spoken about that time? Could Hotaru be acting
upon some newfound clue she had withheld from the rest of the clan?

Or was she pursuing a subtle form of revenge?

To Hotaru, Doji Satsume was a tyrant and a terrible father. Hotaru had never forgiven him
for his part in his wife's suicide. Now, she seemed ready to let his own death stand
unchallenged. It was a child's duty to avenge a parent's murder, and Duty was one of the
seven pillars of Bushidō. Hotaru would never directly violate the dictates of Bushidō, but
she seemed certain there was nothing to avenge. She had looked appropriately somber
at Satsume's funeral, but the next day she had delegated to Shizue the task of going to
the various temples in the capital city and arranging for prayers and incense in their
father's memory.

And yet, Hotaru truly had other concerns to deal with. The death of Akodo Arasou at her
hands, and the ascension of her longtime friend Akodo Toturi to the position of Lion Clan
Champion as a direct result. The continued siege of Toshi aanbo. The broken engagement
between the Lion and the Unicorn. The newly anointed Phoenix Clan Champion.

It was possible that Satsume's death was simply an unfortunate tragedy—natural but
unexpected. But rumors swirled in the Imperial Palace, and Shizue could not be certain.

Her brother's words told a diferent tale.

Satsume's death was far too sudden, and his loss has only served to cement the Scorpion
Clan's position over ours in court! While we protect our holdings on the Osari Plains from
the Lion, those in the capital must get to the bottom of this, and take action.
Weeks had passed since Kuwanan had written the letter, which was uncharacteristically
stained with mud. He must have been on the front lines, writing from some nowhere
village where he'd been stationed—and felt powerless to act beyond writing the letter.

At least he'd known better than to directly blame the Scorpion in the letter, or to call out
Hotaru by name, for it was all too easy for the Clan of Secrets to intercept his
correspondence.

To hear Kuwanan's side of the story, Doji Satsume was an exacting but just father.
Kuwanan loved Teinko just as much as Hotaru did, and had mourned her just as deeply,
but he was the son Satsume had always wanted. His father had lavished all of his love on
Kuwanan, and he was incapable of seeing Satsume as the cold taskmaster that Hotaru
saw. For him, his parents' deaths were separate issues. No vengeance could be taken for
Teinko's suicide, so nothing could be done about his mother. He believed his father had
been murdered, and so the murderer had to be found and made to pay—it was his duty, a
duty he proudly embraced.

Which story should she believe? Teinko had taken Shizue in and lavished the same love
and care on her as she had on Hotaru and Kuwanan. Satsume had formally adopted her,
not just giving her a family but making her one of Doji-no-Kami's own line. He had been a
gruf and distant father fgure, as so many parents were, but he had never been unkind to
her. Others in the Doji family had whispered disapprovingly of her twisted leg, but he had
only mentioned it once to her. "Your lameness will make people underestimate you," he
had said. "Make sure they are wrong."

The opposing stories waged war within her heart. Shizue owed her champion her
obedience, which meant accepting Satsume's death. Kuwanan and Bushidō demanded
vengeance, which required action.

Both stories could not be true.

She stared at the statue of Fukurokujin for a long time.

The guard opened the door and Shizue slowly entered the prince's sitting room. As
protocol demanded, she immediately knelt down and pressed her head to the floor in
respect.

"Shizue-san, it is a pleasure to see you," came the prince's gentle voice. "Please come
and sit before me."

Long practice had given Shizue the ability to look graceful while picking up her cane and
climbing to her feet. She moved forward at a decorous pace, using the time to catch a
glimpse of the prince to gauge his mood. Hantei Daisetsu always looked thoughtful, but
today he seemed even more pensive than usual.

He was dressed somewhat casually, and his unbound hair cascaded around his shoulders
and down his back in a lavish display. Soon he would have his gempuku and it would all
be cut of. Shizue mourned the loss of such beauty, but it could not be helped: the
Imperials were very traditional regarding the length and style of men's hair.

Shizue knelt on a cushion placed before the low dais the prince was seated on. "Thank
you for summoning me, Your Highness," she said humbly. "It is a delight to serve a
member of the Imperial Family."

"It is a delight to hear your stories, so we are both favored this afternoon." He made a
small signal and a servant came forward to pour him a cup of tea. A diferent servant
placed a cup before Shizue. "It will be a moment of calm amidst the troubles that
surround us."

It was an unusually philosophical thought for one so young. "It is one of the many gifts a
story can provide," she said.

"And the Crane are experts at gift-giving," Daisetsu said. His smile made it a jest and not
a taunt. "And since you are a Crane, I suppose you have already heard about the new
Phoenix Champion."

"Shiba Tsukune," Shizue said. "I know little about her except that she is somewhat
young."
"Very young, which makes her an odd choice to replace Shiba Ujimitsu's experience," the
prince remarked. "She apparently trained as a bushi with the Lion Clan for some time.
Perhaps that influenced the choice: there are signs of trouble between the Phoenix and
the Lion."

"She would surely have greater insight into Lion motives than most Phoenix samurai,"
Shizue agreed.

"On the other hand, your brother Kuwanan has trained with the Lion, and it does not
seem to have helped matters any."

Tension arced through Shizue as the conversation shifted to dangerous ground. She
steadied herself and smiled sadly at the prince. "I am afraid one needs no special insight
into our conflict with the Lion. Our possession of the Osari Plains is perfectly legal, and
the Lion are resorting to violence because that is what they know. We merely strive to
safeguard the lands the Emperor has granted us, and to use the bounty they provide to
further our duties to the Empire."

"The Crown Prince is in favor of ofcially ignoring the issue altogether, and allowing your
two clans to settle it on the battlefeld."

Daisetsu's tone implied that he was not entirely in favor of the idea. That the Imperial
princes were divided in their opinions of the conflict was crucial information. She would
have to inform Kakita Yoshi soon.

And yet, to hear that Daisetsu and Sotorii's relationship was not unlike Hotaru and
Kuwanan's... She wished she could say she understood, but she would never speak of her
family's internal struggles with an outsider, especially one so prominently placed.

With fresh determination, she returned to the point that Hotaru would be most interested
in. "And what does His Majesty think?"

His answer was a smirk and a short laugh. "I am surprised you didn't ask what my mother
thinks! Or do you simply assume that she favors her former clan?"
"Empress Hochiahime is a wise and gracious woman," Shizue said primly. And yet, her
failing health was no secret, and it was rumored that she would be absent from the
ceremonies and festivities of the Kiku Matsuri in order to convalesce. "She would never
discuss Imperial policy in front of the Emperor's children."

This drew a real laugh from the prince, and he gestured for the servants to clear away the
teacups. "You haven't even started your story and already I am entertained," he said.
"What have you brought me today?"

"Your Highness, I have brought the story of Kakita's courtship of Lady Doji." Shizue
slipped the fan from her obi and opened it with a snap. "After the frst Emerald
Tournament, the Emperor Hantei and Kakita had become fast friends," she began.

The story flowed through Shizue, told with words and quick gestures of her fan: Lady
Doji's three impossible requests, Kakita's long search, and the wise old fsherwoman who
had helped him.

"'For my bride,' Kakita began, 'you asked me to bring the dead to life for our wedding
day.' From a small bag, Kakita pulled a piece of seasoned driftwood. 'I found this on the
shore of a small fshing village, miles from the forests. Its death was long ago, in a winter
that tore it from its mother tree and cast it to the ocean. It drifted for seasons since,
withered and lifeless on the summer rains. Certainly, this qualifes.' An amused Hantei
raised an eyebrow in curiosity as Kakita drew a strange stringed instrument from his
bag."

Shizue mimicked the movement, gently profering a phantom instrument in her hands.

"'From a piece of the wood I have shown you, I have carved this gift.' With gentle fngers,
Kakita evoked a love melody from the biwa, the frst such instrument ever created in
aokugan. The biwa sang pure and echoing notes throughout the palace. Everywhere that
the music could be heard, the populace stopped to listen in wonder at the beauty of the
piece. When he was done, none could argue that the biwa had indeed come to life. Lady
Doji could only nod."
Shizue's body grew rigid as she donned Lady Doji's persona, nodding at her audience with
only the slightest hints of fear and hope escaping her tranquil façade. With another shift
in posture, she re-assumed the genial character of Kakita.

"'Secondly, gentle daughter of Amaterasu, you asked that I tell you how wide the world is,
and how long it would take to walk from one side to the other. The answer to your
question is not in the journey, but in one's companion. If a man were to awaken when the
sun rises from the sea, and travel the land by your mother's side, surely he would fnd
himself at the other side of the world when she sought her rest in the western lands.'
Kakita's smile was pleasant and broad. 'Thus, as Amaterasu herself is my guide, it takes
but one day to travel the world.' The court smiled, and Hantei had to struggle to contain
his laughter at this eloquent answer. Lady Doji blushed slightly in response and hid her
smile beneath a swiftly upraised fan."

Shizue opened her fan and drew it to conceal her face, smiling instead with her brows.

"Kakita smiled at Doji and continued, 'Lastly, my lady, you asked me to bring you an
example of perfect beauty—a beauty which could not be contested, even by you.' Kakita
reached into his bag again, and there was subtle whispering in the court. 'It was difcult,
my lady, to fnd the most beautiful thing in aokugan, but I believe I can show it to you.'
With closed hands, he drew the fnal object from the bag and held it before her. Lady Doji
leaned toward it inquisitively, and Kakita opened his hands."

Daisetsu, too, was leaning in, and Shizue paused dramatically.

"Held carefully between Kakita's fngers was a small golden mirror, poised so that Lady
Doji could see her own reflection. Lady Doji's heart was fully won. The wedding of Kakita
and Doji was held immediately, and the festivities lasted for seven days."

When she fnished, Shizue was exhausted but pleased: her performance had been
flawless. She bowed once more, and resumed her place on the cushion. Nevertheless, as
she looked up at him through the corner of her eye, Daisetsu had a slight frown on his
face, and her heart skipped a beat.
"You are as skilled as your reputation claims, Shizue-san," he said. "I could see the events
as if they took place before me, but that made me notice something I hadn't before." He
paused in contemplation of his next words. "Kakita cheated—the driftwood really hadn't
come back to life. It was only part of a biwa, not a living tree."

No one had ever questioned one of her stories before. Nor had she ever needed to defend
one of the founders of her clan without insulting an Imperial prince. "That is right, Your
Highness," Shizue smiled as she quickly sorted through possible responses. "It is true that
the piece of wood was no longer a living tree. But the story Kakita told about it, with his
words and music, made it truly live again in Lady Doji's mind."

The prince seemed to be turning something over in his mind. "So the truth is merely what
one believes it to be."

She could not contest him, for appearances were reality in aokugan. A rakish courtier was
a perfect husband so long as his wife was never confronted with his infdelity. A sake-
loving samurai was not a drunkard so long as she performed her duties to her lord.

In the end, it did not matter whether Satsume had been killed or simply died.

All that mattered was what Hotaru and Kuwanan believed. And they each believed
diferently.

Shizue kept her face completely still, and bowed deeply. "His Highness is wise indeed."
 Blind Ambition

Otoma Sorai’s hand trembled, and the sake he was pouring nearly splashed out of the
delicate porcelain cup. Bayushi Kachiko politely ignored the near-breach of decorum.

“My most profuse apologies, Bayushi-dono,” he said, ofering the decanter so she could
pour for him. “I fear age is rendering me less steady than I was in my youth.”

“But my lord, you have learned so much in your years. I should be so lucky as to glean
merely a fraction of your wisdom.” She fnished pouring for them both, but as she
reached for his cup her kimono slipped slightly, exposing just a hint of her throat and
shoulder. Sorai tensed across the table, and they both picked up their cups.

As they sipped in silence, Sorai, the Otomo family daimyō, glanced around Kachio’s
audience chamber, taking in the stark décor; a shōji screen depicting sparse cherry
blossoms, a wall hanging adorned with a quote from Bayushi’s Lies—“The best mask is no
mask at all”—in scarlet ink under the Scorpion mon, and a red vase on a mahogany side
table holding a single white carnation. Even the lanterns cast a ruddy light through the
room.

“Now, Otomo-dono, you wished to discuss something.”

”Yes. I have…some concerns…regarding relations among the Great Clans.”

Kachiko nodded. The Otomo, one of the Imperial families of aokugan, existed to sow
dissent among the clans, preventing them from ever uniting against the Emperor. Her
next words were, therefore, exactly what Sorai was not expecting to hear: “Ah, so you are
concerned they have been overly strained?”

Sorai blinked. “In thruth… no. aelations among the Crane, the Dragon, the Phoenix, and
the Unicorn seem to be growing ever more amicable. A coalition may be forming.”

“Oh, my. That is a concern. Yet, I am certain you have already devised a way of ensuring
such a thing does not come to pass.”
Sorai leaned forward. “Indeed. Otomo spouses are married into each of these clans, in
relatively senior positions. Their influence shall…lessen the likelihood of such a coalition.”

“The Emperor is lucku that you have such assets at your command, Sorai-dono,” she said
softly, using his frst name to underscore her trust in—and desired familiarity with—the
Omoto lord. “I know, now, to have the Scorpion come to you, should we ever need your
help.: Kachiko reached out and fractionally adjusted the vase holding the carnation. “Our
time together means so much to me, Sorai-dono—“

A soft scratching at the door interrupted her. “This must be urgent,” she said, looking
disappointed. “When it comes to certain guests, I am to be disturbed only if it is
absolutely essential.”

Frustration tightened Sorai’s face, but he simply nodded. “Of course. A matter urgent to
the Imperial Advisor must be addressed without delay.” aising from the cushion, he
bowed to Kachiko. “Until out next meeting, Bayushi-dono.”

Kachiko stood and returned the bow with a smile. “I look forward to it, Otomo-dono.”

Sorai gave a lingering look, then moved to the door and opening it. A man whose dark
kimono bore the mon of the Shosuro family moved aside. He bowed deeply as Sorai
departed. Then entered and slide the door closed. “Lady Bayushi, I come bearing
important news,” he said, loud enough for the Otomo to overhear, and bowed again.

Kachiko corrected her kimono and glanced at the carnation. Takeru had been watching
the flower surreptitously, waiting for her to give the signal. She waited a few more
moments to ensure that they were truly alone. “I would hear your thoughts regarding
Sorai, but I must prepare to meet with the Emperor this afternoon.”

“Of course, my lady. However, there is one matter I believe I should bring to your
attention now.”

“You are my most trusted retainer, Takeru-san. Go on.”

“Your confdence honors me, Bayushi-dono. Earlier today, I had occasion to play Go with
my friend the esteemed Unicorn ambassador Ide Tadaji. His clan intends to petition the
throne, proposing a new law declaring Toshi aanbo and Imperial City. This would prevent
further attacks on it by any clan lacking ofcial Imperial sanction.”

“Interesting. And under what pretext?”

“Concer for the common people of Toshi aanbo, who have been subjected to many years
of conflict. The Unicorn wish that sufering alleviated.”

“How very compassionate of them. I assume the Unicorn seek support from our clan.”

“Indeed, Lady Bayushi. The Unicorn ambassador claims signifcant support for this
petition already, but the backing of the Scorpion Clan would be…most benefcial. I bade
him approach the Scorpion Clan Champion regarding this matter.”

Kachiko nodded. “Very well. Now, if that is all, I must prepare to meet our glorious
Emperor.”

“Of course, my lady,” Takeru said, bowing deeply.

After he left, Kachiko lingered. She did have a great deal to do before meeting the
Emperor, but Takeru’s report could change things. The Unicorn concern for the welfare of
the heimin farmers was charming, but predictable. There undoubtedly was, however,
more to it.

She looked at the sake she had shared with Sorai.

aelations among the Crane, the Dragon, the Phoenix, and the Unicorn seem to be
growing ever more amicable.

The old man had been right in his assessment. Self-importantly irrelevant, but right
nonetheless.
…there will be no alliance of consequence permitted between the Crane and the Unicorn,
she’d told her husband when last they’d met in the Imperial Gardens.

And yet, the Unicorn were obviously trying to do something to beneft the Crane, who
currently held Toshi aanbo despite the best eforts of the Lion to dislodge them. Under the
Unicorn’s proposed law, Crane control over the city, and their lasting claim to it, would be
dramatically strengthened.

What did the Unicorn stand to gain from this? If Toshi aanbo was denied to them, the Lion
would likely deploy their full might against the Unicorn out of sheerm frustrated spite…

“Ah, of course.”

Shinjo Altansarnai’s failed marriage with the Lion would likely lead to war anyway. And
whilst Crane military support would be useful to the Unicorn, their support in the Imperial
Court, mitigating the political scandal of the Unicorn Champion’s broken betrothal, could
be more potent than a whole legion of bushi. It would cost the Crane some of their
diminishing stock of political captial, but if it solidifed their grip on Toshi aanbo, it would
be worth it.

Kachiko followed the strands of threat and opportunity, a spider’s web of possibilities
spinning outward from the Unicorn petition…

…the Unicorn at war with the Lion, diverting their attention from the opium trade in
ayokō Owari Toshi…

…the Phoenix—infuriated by the Unicorn’s use of gaijin magic and bolstered by Isawa
Kaede’s marriage to their new champion—allying with the Lion, weakening their current
alliance with the Crane…

…the Crane, emboldened in the courts, growing their political influence—

Doji Hotaru, her perfect face framed by delicate stands of white hair and lit by a bright
smile…her hands in Kachiko’s, strong, but still warm and soft…
Kachiko’s eyes narrowed on the carnation.

…there will be no alliance of consequence permitted between the Crane and the Unicorn.

Kachiko abruptly strode out of her audience chamber. A servant hovered near the
entrance, waiting to clean the room. She stopped and glared at the man, who knelt with
his forehead pressed to the floor.

“The welfare of the peasants,” she snapped. “Why do the Unicorn even care?”

The servant said nothing, of course, and Kachiko continued on her way.

Bayushi Kachiko paused outside the Temple of Hantei-no-Kami. She stood on a long
bridhe that rested on the shoulders of paired statues, each the likeness of a past
Emperor. Water lilies and lotus blossoms dotted the placid water below. Here in the
Forbidden City, the Imperial heat of Otosan Uchi, there was none of the noise and bustle
of the surrounding streets. Serenity enveloped the temple like a silken shroud, which was
why the Emperor used it to escape the simmering tensions of the Imperial Court.

Instead, it was her duty to bring the matters of the court to him. And pressing matters
there were.

Kachiko carried on, acknowledging the bows ofered by the Seppun Honor Guard, the
Miharu, flanking the temple’s entrance. A young Miya attendant led her through the
interior of the temple, which was a suprisingly small and sparse structure considering its
revered purpose. They stopped at a plain door flanked by two more of the vigilant Miharu.
The Miya slid the door open and stepped back.

Kachiko entered and, in one smooth movement, dropped and touched her forehead to the
polished floor.

“aise, Bayushi-san,” a soft voice said, “and join me for tea.”

Kachiko returned to her feet and faced the speaker, His August Imperial Majesty Hantei
the Thirty-Eighth, Emperor of aokugan.
“I am honored to do so, Your Majesty.” she said, taking her place opposite the Emperor at
a small table set with a tea service and game of Go. As always, she was struck by the
bare simplicity of the room—the table, a pair of comfortable cushions, and a trio of
unadorned shōji screens. She understood the Emperor was glad to escape the pomp and
ceremony that surrounded his every movement, but this was barren even to her reserved
tastes. Even the Hantei’s wardrobe was plain, a green kimono embroidered with the
Imperial chrysanthemum mon in gold.

While a servant poured tea, she examined the Go board, upon which a game was
underway.

“Tell me, Bayushi-san.” the Emperor said, noting her interest, “how do you believe this
game will progress?”

Kachiko considered the arrangement of the stones. “Assuming neither player makes an
error, and the optimum placement of his stones…then, after he places his sixth stone,
white will have an insurrmountable lead.”

The Emperor nodded. “I quite agree. What do you have to tell me today, Bayushi-san?”

Kachiko began addressing various matters of court with the Emperor—all of them
important, none of them vital. The Emperor listening, occasionally commenting or asking
questions and then, if appropriate, rendering a decision. When she brought up the matter
of Lion and Crane tensions around Toshi aanbo—and the death of the Lion Clan
Champion, Akodo Arasou—the Emperor frowned.

“An unfortunate situation. It has already cost the lives of many loyal samurai.”

Kachiko waited for the Emperor to go on, and he did, but to other matters. The Unicorn
petition could be pressing, but she wasn’t prepared to bring it to the Emperor’s attention
—not until she had discussed it with Shoju.

They continued their discussion, and Kachiko studied the Emperor as though she were
looking at him for the frst time. The man had occupied the Chrysanthemum Throne for
almost as long as she’d been alive. He was, by defnition, divine—a scion of Tengoku, the
Celestial Heavens. He could trace his lineage to the Lady Sun herself. For all her
pragmatism, Kachiko had never doubted this. But for the second time today, her thoughts
returned to her conversation with Shoju in the gardens, after he had mentioned the Kami
Hantei, the frst Emperor.

Many Hantei emperors have come and gone in the meantime, Kachiko had said. None
have enjoyed the favor of Heaven as clearly as the frst. And this one, the thirty-eighth—

Shoju had stopped her, preventing her from saying what she had been meaning to—this
one, the thirty-eighth, might have list the favor of Heaven entirely.

Blasphemy. Treason. And yet, if this Emperor was infused with the righteous power of
Tengoku, why was he drawn and tired, his hair fading to grey, his eyesight failing such
that documents had to be written in ever-larger script?

“Is there more, Bayushi-san?” the Emperor asked.

Kachiko realized silence had fallen and looked thoughtful. “Yes, Your Majesty. Yasuhi Taka-
dono has requested a private audience with you. He advocates for more Imperial support
for the Crab Clan , to bolster their defense of the Carpenter Wall.”

The Emperor sighed. “He will prattle on about jade, and rice, and sending Imperial
Legions. Can we not simply accede to his request?”

“We could, Your Majesty, if not for shortages throughout the Empire. The Crane, who
normally have ample surpluses of rice, continue to struggle with the damage done by the
tsunami to their felds. Their lack leaves no bufer against more far-reaching scarcity. And
as for jade, existing mines near exhaustion, while no new ones have been found to
replace them.”

The Emperor’s frown hardened.

…this one, the thirty-eighth, might have lost the favor of Heaven entirely.
“What do you suggest I tell him, then?” the Emperor asked at last.

Kachiko considered the question, but the politician in her saw an opportunity. “If I may
suggest, Your Majesty, the Yasuki lord could meet with your surrogate regarding this,
sparing your having to deal with such…specifc matters. I would suggest Kakita Yoshi-
dono. Meeting with the Imperial Chancellor attaches the weight of the Imperial Court to
the issue.”

Kachiko waited. The weight of the Imperial Court would meaning nothing to Taka, who
would just be angry that he wasn’t meeting with the Emperor himself. But if there was no
good news to ofer, it might as well be Yoshi who said so. And anything that kept the
chancellor busy left him less likely to interfere in other matters…

“Very well,” the Emperor said. “The chanceller shall meet with Taka. Is there anything
else?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said. “The fnall matter is that of the Emerald Champion.”

“Yes, Bayushi Shoju touched on the matter as we fned last evening. This was our game of
Go.” The Emperor gave Kachiko a keen look. “He was playing white.”

Was the Emperor annoyed by the game? She would need to shape her next words
accordingly. Before she could respond, he waved a dismissive hand.

“I have become quite used to Shoju defeating me, my lady. As for the Emerald Champion,
that is a grave afair. His funeral procession will not be forgotten anytime soon.”

“Indeed, the whole of the Empire still mourns his loss. But I am referring to the Emerald
Championship itself. The ofce must be flled as soon as possible. There are too many
contentious issues afecting the Empire to leave it empty.”

“This is much what Shoju said.”

“He and I are of a similar mind. Accordingly, I recommend that you appoint a new
Emerald Champion immediately, flling the ofce in an action capacity, until the
customary tournament can be held to determine the permanent incumbent. I further
recommend that Bayushi Aramoro, the esteemed brother of Bayushi Shoju, be appointed
to the role.”

“You recommend a Scorpion. How suprising.”

Kachiko ofered a self-deprecating smile. “I realize it hardley seems an unbiased choise.

However, the Scorption are—thank the Fortunes—not currently embroiledin the complex
and demanding issues distracting the other clans. The Crab need every soldier on the
Wall. The Lion and the Crane are consumed by their disagreement over Toshi aanbo, and
they should resolve that before even attempting to adopt an Empire-wide outlook.
Aramoro, on the other hand, would bring the broad perspective and objectivity the
position demands.”

“It is unusual to appoint a new Emerald Champion. The custom is to fll the role through
the tournament.”

“Unusual…but not unprecedented. Hantei the Third, may he bask in the glory of Heaven
forever, did so. Admittedly, the circumstances were diferent—the incumbent committed
seppuku in protest, dying by his own hand rather than carrying out an execution—but the
need of the Empire was no greater than it is now, and perhaps even less.”

The Emperor stared at the Go board. Kachiko waited, her gaze also on the game. Many
considered Go an exericse in martial thinking, but to Kachiko, the game more closely
descripted the behaviour of people. Knowing the two players of this one as well as she
did, she could readily predict the game’s likely outcome. Just as Shoju was six stones
from victory, her own experience with the Hantei told her that her sucession of courtly
moves should lead to Aramoro being named Emerald Champion. And once he held that
position in an acting capacity, it shouldn’t be difcult to have it become permanent—

“No.”

Kachiko looked up from the game.

“No,” the Emperor repeated, “the new Emerald Champion will be selected by the
customary tournament, not by appointment. You may inform the esteemed Imperial
Herald to undertake the necessary preparations.”

Kachiko stared. Almost shook her head.

Assuming neither player makes an error, and the optimum placement of the stones…

This was not.

“Do you have any questions, Bayushi-san?”

Kachiko’s mind raced through a dozen scenarios. At last, she said “I do not, Your Majesty.
Your wisdom, your will.”

As she departed the Temple of Hantei-no-Kami, Kachiko paused again on the bridge. She
didn’t look at the flowering plants or the placid water this time. Instead, she looked at the
statues supporting the sweeping arc of the bridge. Eighteen pairs of them—the frst
thirty-six Hantei Emperors of aokugan. When the Emperor died, the bridge would be
redesigned to accommodate his likeness, and that of his father and predecessor.

I am referring to the Emerald Championship itself. The ofce must be flled as soon as
possible. There are too many contentious issues afecting the Empire to leave it empty.

But that was exactly what the Emperor had chosen to do. He’d made an entirely
unexpected move. An uncharacteristic one. An error, even, throwing the game into chaos.
She needed to consider her own move in response.

For a moment, Kachiko looked at the place where the statue of Hantei XXXVIII would
stand, once he was dead. Then she turned and started back to the Imperial Palace, her
pace measured, but determined.
 Service and Sacrifce

Ikoma Ujiaki waded through a boisterous river of Lion bushi, courtiers, and shugenja
thronging the sake house. The scents of wine and perfume choked the air as the serving
girls floated between tables, bowing between passes of porcelain carafes. Ujiaki spied a
lone samurai tucked into a corner, her blank face undoubtedly a mask. He knelt on the
cushion beside the low table, arraying himself opposite her, and gave a polite nod as an
apology for his intrusion.

“Akodo Matoko-san,” he cleared his throat, surveying the battlefeld of empty sake bottles
crowding the table. “You seem...distracted from the festivities. Are you fretting for Akodo-
ue’s nuptials tomorrow?” Or dreading, perhaps?

The retired sensei did not reply, but merely gritted her teeth. Ujiaki followed her gaze to
the sake bottle between them, which was painted with small cranes circling the kanji for
“grace.” He called a servant to their table.

“Hatsuko,” he growled, but avoided the rudeness of actually pointing at thebottle. “A

diferent bottle. Now.”

He thought he saw a flash of a knowing smile on the serving girl’s lips, but the immediate
innocence of her apology smothered it. “My deepest
apologies, Ujiaki-sama. I beg forgiveness from our most esteemed Lion Clan patron. I
shall bring one worthy of you and your guest.”

“Most esteemed?” Matoko snickered, her voice deep with reluctant amusement, as
Hatsuko whisked away the bottle and brought a new, undecorated one.

Ujiaki bristled but kept his emotions on a tight leash. “Diplomats frequent these
establishments to discuss strategy. Fine sake is a potent lubricant for negotiation.”

“Ah, of course,” Matoko responded, drumming her strong fngers on the table. “I have my
battlefeld, you have yours.”
“Indeed.” Ujiaki stroked his wild beard smooth. He had not expected such condescension
from her, but he found the words for the proper counter. “And how goes your personal
battle, Matoko-san? They speak of nothing else these days at the Lion embassy. I hear
your husband
Daidoji Utsugiri has abandoned you to join the Crane army. I hope his actions have not
rallied your sympathies against us in our dispute with the Crane.”

Matoko’s face stifened at his assault. The lantern light cast shadows in the lines of
remorse around her mouth, although it was promptly swallowed up by her anger. She’s
had too much sake to keep control over her emotions.

“I am sworn to the Lion—to Akodo Toturi-ue, Ujiaki-sama. And my former husband’s acts
are none of your concern.”

“On the contrary,” Ujiaki pressed, maintaining his momentum. “Military conflicts defne
my relationships at court. War makes enemies of friends and family for us all. I suppose it
is only natural for you to want the Lion to hesitate instead of crushing those who would
insult our clan with impunity.”

Matoko leaped to her feet, ready to draw her weapon, but she steadied herself as the
patrons nearby eyed her outburst. She reseated herself, her eyes watering from the sting
of shame. “That was a coward’s blow, Ujiaki,” she hissed before downing another cup of
sake with a grip near
strong enough to shatter the tiny porcelain vessel.

Ujiaki smiled at the victory. “Yes, forgive me, Matoko-san.” He poured her another round.

“We all live and die for the Lion in our own way,” she mumbled, as though she were
attempting to convince herself. “We will sacrifce whatever it takes in the service of
honor.”

“Yes. You have. Your break from your husband ofers proof enough of your loyal sacrifces
for our clan.” Ujiaki scanned the room one more time, ensuring they would not be
overheard before continuing. “If only others were so eager to declare their loyalty as
swiftly as you. There
are those among us who still...treasure their connections with the Crane, even in the face
of ultimate betrayal.”

Matoko frowned. “Are you talking about Lord Toturi?”

As she followed the path he’d left for her, Ujiaki stroked his beard once more. “But then
again, it can be hard for childhood friends to grow up and let go for the sake of the clan.”
Still avoiding Toturi’s name directly, he continued, “Perhaps he belongs in an Asako
monastery. He’s more Phoenix than Lion anyway—a hesitating philosopher would be
perfect for a pacifst clan of librarians.”

“Toturi-sama is our leader,” Matoko insisted, too tipsy to keep up the subtleties of Ujiaki’s
feint. “These internal disputes only make our clan weak. We must move past them. He
should have our support in his new role as champion. Let him grow into the leader he is
to become.”
“I wish there were more time for patience,” Ujiaki lamented. “But a looming war requires
immediate action. Loyalty. Service. Sacrifce. From all of us. Like yours.”

Matoko looked beyond him, to young Mikiu who sat several tables away. Matoko’s
daughter laughed with a crowd of young bushi. The young warrior had just passed her
gempuku, and the cloud of her current familial troubles had vanished in the camaraderie
of her new companions.
After studying the happiness on her child’s face, the retired sensei shook her head and let
out a labored breath.

“I believe in Toturi-sama, Ujiaki-san. Our honor comes from obedience, to our Emperor
and to our champion. We would all do well to remember it.”

Ujiaki hid a grimace beneath a friendly smile and bowed to her, the stalemate in their
discussion itching like a bead of sweat. Silence hung around their table until Hatsuko
suddenly dispelled the tenseness with a tray of fresh bottles.

“I am sorry that the sake is not agreeing with you. Our illustrious owner has requested I
bring you some of our house koshu. We were saving it for the celebrations of the Emerald
Championship tournament, but perhaps it will be more pleasing to our loyal Lion Clan
guests.” She set several bottles down before leaving to serve other tables.

Of course. “The Emerald Championship,” he chuckled to himself. How could he have not
seen it before?

Matoko took the cup, suspicion crimping her eyebrows. “Hm?”

The Ofce of the Emerald Champion was the greatest honor the Emperor can bestow on a
clan—and with it came the Hantei’s favor.

Ujiaki grinned. Of course we shall compete in the tournament, and our clan boasts many
of the strongest and most experienced warriors and magistrates. But there stands one
who needs a chance to prove himself useful. Someone who would not be missed during
his constant journeys
throughout the Empire...

Akodo Toturi’s face rippled on the surface of the ablution fountain. Arasou. Hotaru. Tsuko.
And now the Emerald Championship tournament.

He dashed his reflection away by dipping the copper ladle into the font, drawing the cold
water over his hands to purify them.

And Kaede, my bride.

Each of them was a wave spreading across the Empire, and before long they would
return, like the ripples bouncing of the stone walls of the fountain.

“Ah, Akodo-ue. You are quite early.” Akodo Kage’s long white hair spilled down his
shoulders over a spotless, black dress kimono tied with a brown and gold hakama. The
sun winked his wrinkled yet sharp eyes, and he smiled warmly as he approached.
“Nervous on your wedding day?”

Toturi nodded. His aged teacher would no doubt have the wisdom he needed. “It does not
feel like a wedding day. I have too much on my mind.”
“What troubles you?”

Toturi took a deep breath before looking up into the branches of a red plum tree, the
leaves waving in the breeze like bloody hands. “Arasou.”

Kage did not seem surprised.

Toturi continued. “He should be here, accepting Kaede into our family beside me. He
always teased me about Kaede, and now the day is here where that actually means
something.

“Hotaru, she—”

Toturi didn’t have words, and Kage seemed content to let silence fll their place. The
warm wind rustled the leaves gently, like the whispering of spirits.

What will you do?

He had yet to speak to Hotaru—or even see her—since that day. He could not know
whether she was still in Toshi aanbo, or if she had already returned to the Imperial
Capital.

“I wonder, will I face her in the Tournament of the Emerald Champion? Or her uncle,
Kakita Toshimoko, perhaps the most famous duelist in all of aokugan?”

How could he possibly defeat the Grey Crane, if that was who Hotaru tapped to compete?

And if by some miracle he should win, Toturi would face even larger questions.

The shrine darkened as a rain cloud passed in front of the sun, and the skies churned, as
if they were as tumultuous as his thoughts.

“I thought it was just Tsuko, but now... It seems they are trying to banish me to the court.
“Every day that I do not declare open war against the Crane, the deeper the chasm grows
within the rising factions in the Lion.

“The worst part of this is that the paths are all clear. There are simply...too many.”

Kage gave a polite laugh and tapped Toturi’s forehead with his fan. “Toturi-kun, your mind
has always been a labyrinth.”

“It’s my curse.”

“Never,” Kage chuckled. “Arasou would always tell you that you thought too much, but
that is exactly why he is where he is and you are where you are.”

Toturi frowned, his shoulders growing rigid at the comment, but Kage’s shrewd smile
hinted at a lesson in the words.

“Toturi-kun,” Kage continued. “Do you remember when you frst met Isawa Kaede? Her
father brought her with him to Castle Akodo to negotiate the fnal details of the betrothal.
You were about eight, possibly nine.”

“I was eight. I remember because Arasou had just had his sixth birthday.”

“Ha, your memory is the keenest of blades. You and Arasou were spear fshing in the
garden pond—much to the servants’ consternation—and having a small, strange Phoenix
girl join your party was just the oddest sight. Poor Lady Kaede knew nothing about
catching fsh, and Arasou laughed right in her face. He told her he could catch ten before
she would even catch one.”

“He was just showing his Lion pride. Father taught him to be stronger, faster, and more
fearsome than those of any other clan.”

“Perhaps, but for some reason you did not learn those lessons. You did not see a rival in
Kaede. You saw a young bird who would learn to soar among the Heavens, not a lion cub
who could hunt and wrestle. You also saw a sad little girl who perhaps could not catch a
single fsh
before Arasou caught his ten. Do you remember what you did?”

“I helped her catch one.”

“You did more than that, Toturi-kun. You called out to Arasou, ‘I see a huge fsh over
there!’ and he crashed around the back end of the pond like a bucking horse. His
splashing scared the all fsh toward Kaede, and she speared one.”

“There was a big fsh. I wasn’t lying. Arasou even caught it.”

“He did, but you made it happen. More importantly, you helped Arasou and Kaede both
get fsh.”

Toturi recalled Kaede and Arasou as children, smiling—Arasou with his toothy arrogance
over his massive trout and Kaede with her innocent delight at her delicate stickleback.

“Your brother had his place. He fulflled his role well. He was a powerful, assertive warrior
who led the charges and spilled enough blood to be the fercest and most formidable Lion
Clan Champion we have yet had. However, his focus was only ever on the task at hand,
his eyes on
a single catch. Likewise, you have your place. You see not just one fsh at a time, but the
pond, the shore and the fsherman in it. For you, the situation branches far past the single
path, beyond the current battle into the dozens that branch after it. Your perspective
transcends clan squabbles, revenge, rage, and foolish mistakes.”

Kage folded his arms over his chest as he always did before the fnal words of a lesson.
“There are those who can crash after the single fsh and get it, and then there are the
rare few like you, who can see where those people must go to achieve greater things.
This is why you were chosen. And this is why you would be the best Emerald Champion
the Empire could hope for.”

The memory glistened for a fnal moment in Toturi’s mind before vanishing. The kind old
man nodded his encouragement, as he always had in times of trouble. Toturi bowed to
Kage. “Thank you, sensei. Your wisdom has again guided me to the right path.”
Kage laughed an aged yet hearty laugh. “Don’t lie, Toturi-kun. The right path has always
been before you. Sometimes, you just need a push to take the frst steps. Now go and join
your life with that of the young bird who has become a brilliant phoenix. And remind
Kaede that she
is getting the kind brother.”

Toturi bowed a last time before making his way under the sakaki trees where the wedding
procession would start. A nervous tremor had entered his hands, seeming to fll his
stomach with stones.

This wedding is so inopportune. Too soon after Arasou’s funeral, during my power
struggle with Tsuko and the others, while on the brink of war... Perhaps it should have
been postponed... But it is too late.

Ikoma Ujiaki, Akodo Matoko, and the rest of the Imperial Lion Clan contingent joined him.
The temple bells rang out, as if to herald this moment and all the change it would bring.

Isawa Kaede entered the temple courtyard wearing a flowing white kimono with red
rimming the flowers, leaves, and birds with crimson streaks. A wedding headdress
crowned with a golden phoenix hooded her dark hair, from which strings of pearls hung
on either side of her face.

Beside her walked her father and lord, Isawa Ujina, the Elemental Master of Void. A young
bushi trailed behind them, as if she were horribly lost, until he recognized her from the
dōjō of the Akodo Commander School—and the tell-tale hilt of Ofushikai.

Kaede bowed to Toturi, ofering a graceful, nervous smile before turning to face the
approaching shrine maidens.

Toturi’s sight lingered a fnal moment on his bride. He watched the ease with which she
glided through the temple etiquette, the social obligations, the nobility of the occasion.
She could easily make friends of ten guests before he could gain the good opinion of one.

I am lucky it’s her. I don’t deserve a bride such as she.

He took his place at Kaede’s side, and the procession marched through the gates to the
outer shrine.

Halting at a flaming brazier, they all bowed as a vermillion-clad shugenja approached

with a long, flowering cherry branch in hand. He chanted to the kami, his pure voice
singing the purifcation prayer to earn their favor as a blessing over the union. Toturi
glanced at Kaede.

She was poised, lost in the spirit of the chanting, a gentle light entering her eyes as she
sensed the presence of the kami.

The warmth of the communion softened her face, and Toturi could still see the traces of
that little girl from long ago, now blossomed into the loveliness of her adulthood.

At a prompting from the shugenja, Toturi recited the ceremonial vow. “I will be your
husband. I will honor you and accept you into my home. I will protect and provide for you,
my wife.”

The shrine maidens brought forward three cups of purifed sake. Toturi sipped from each
before ofering it to Kaede. Then the priest threw the cherry branch before their feet,
mumbling a prayer to ignite it as a fnal ofering to the kami. As the flames consumed the
wood, Toturi
reached his hand out to Kaede, which she tenderly took in her own, their fngers clasped.
Her skin was warm. The shugenja struck up a fnal prayer of blessing, and a shower of
cherry petals rained down from the surrounding groves. The prayer ended, and the bride
and groom were one.

The priest bowed to both of them, and Toturi and Kaede parted to reunite with their
respective clans before the reception. Toturi felt his lungs unclench, and he sighed, as if
he could suddenly breathe again. He made his way to his clansmen to see Ikoma Ujiaki’s
bushy brows barely conceal scowling behind the rest of the Lion representatives, all
gloriously adorned in their ceremony regalia.

Our clan needs unity, even if it means taking myself out of the picture. The schism can
heal if I move on as Emerald Champion and hand some of the reins to those below me.
Perhaps then we can steer away from war together, and they will have felt they had a
hand in the decision.

The Lion cannot aford the price of war. aokugan cannot aford a war now.

He made his way through myriad congratulations from all around before turning back to
see Kaede and her family approach him. She had taken of the outer white kimono and
was now completely clothed in brown and gold, a yellow lion mon embroidered on her
obi.

“My husband,” she called. Was that a hint of happiness in her voice? “Shall we continue
to the palace for the celebration feast?”

He nodded, ofering his arm. She placed her hand on it, and they led the procession from
the shrine. The weight of her hand comforted him.

Our marriage is a union, a peace ofering for the ties between Lion and Phoenix, he
thought. I am no longer a single man, a single soldier. I must look beyond myself to see
the larger picture.

He looked up the aoad of Fast Hopes to the Imperial Palace, which glistened in the
morning sun.

I must be ready to serve all of aokugan.

 A Diference of Lanterns

Yasuki Taka held in a frown as the servants flocked around him like sandpipers, smoothing
and tucking and tightening his outft. One shouldn’t scowl at those simply doing their
duty—just as he was—but the heavy silk hoeki no hō was being pulling down atop other
layers of formal garb that were already more than enough.

“I thank you for your careful ministration, but this should be sufcent,” he said smoothly,
giving a polite smile and waving the servants away. “These hands of mine may not be so
many as all of yours, but they don’t lack in deftness!” He pretended to busy himself with
the adjustments to his garments, but took special note of the servants as they departed,
noting who seemed to be in the greatest hurry to leave and who lingered overlong.
Doubtlessly they were sent by diferent clans to keep an eye on him; the game was
imagining who they worked for.

The frst one out of the door was new at espionage—foolish move, to make your exit so
blatant—and was probably the Emperor’s, chosen for convenience rather than skill. After
all, who wouldn’t expect the Imperial gaze upon them, in Otosan Uchi itself?

Those who bowed and left in a cluster were more difcult to place, wiser or more
experienced, likely felded by clans with a middling interest in his afairs. Unicorn,
perhaps—and certainly Lion. Phoenix and Dragon would hear about it by gossip, if at all.
As for Scorpion… Taka smirked. Most likely, they either did not care, or they had someone
hidden under his bed.

The last servant’s allegiance was the easiest to guess: all formality, so intent on folding
every bit of discarded clothing that departure seemed almost an afterthought. Crane, of
course, having both the obsession with form and the keen desire to keep close watch of
their former vassals. Even hundreds of years of peace could not repair the damage done
by the frst true interclan war: the war that had led the Emperor to forbid direct warfare
between the Great Clans.

Never had there been poorer neighbours than the Crab and Crane—unless, of course, one
counted the Crab and the Shadowlands.
Taka frowned, showing the emotions he’d tucked away earlier, and glanced at the writing
desk set out in the corner of the room. It awaited the outcome of his meeting with the
Heavenly Sovereign, Hantei XXXVIII, and all of Taka’s hard work and persistance pleas.
Too many letters of grim apology had been written at that desk, telling his people that he
had not had a chance to meet with the Emperor yet, that they needed to hold on as best
they could, t hat no aid was coming. His son attempted to hide the casualties of the
battles with the monsters of the Shadowlands from him, but decades of masquerading as
a simple peddler had given Yasuki Taka an enviable information network of his own. In the
dim lamplight of the room, the numbers of the dead loomed like columns of smoke rising
from pyres.

“Dim, indeed,” Taka suddenly said to himself in irritation, smoothing doen his fne outer
garment and the Yasuki family mon, a golden carp surrounding a flower of deep azure,
stitched carefully across the chest. He shot a withering glance at the guttering lanterns
around the room. “You’d think it were some kind of festival in here, with all these
lanterns, but not a one does more than waver and look pretty. Why so many foolish faint
gleams when one strong light is all one requires?”

It took another few tugs on the hoeki no hō before Taka calmed himself somewhat. His
last truly happy momend had been haggling with the merchant for the silk to make that
very garment. And it was lovely, indeed—but everything about it felt stifling and irritation.
“Still.” the older man reasoned to himself, “no better candidate to appeal to the Emperor
for aid than the Yasuki family daimyō.” The mental image arose of the Crab Clan
Champions heir, Hida Yakamo, kicking in the door of the throne room, bedecked in war-
scarred armor and bellowing for jade. Taka snickered despite himself.

Somewhere outside, a great brass bell tolled the midday hour, and Taka sighed. “Blessed
Daikoku, hear me, and let me do my clan honor today. Let my words be heard, and my
plea be successful,” he whispered, and gave a wry smile.

“The sooner I do this, the sooner I’m out of this gaudy garb, away from these useless
lamps, and back on the road.”
The courtyards of the Forbidden City seemed oddly empty as Yasuki Taka approached the
palace, fgures half-discerned conversing in the gardens, vaguely screened by vegetation.
Weeks had passed since the grandiose funeral memorializing the Emerald Champion, Doji
Satsume, and the many visiting dignitaries had paid their respects and returned home
already. Yet, the fnal convening of the Imperial Court before summer was upon them, and
the grounds should have been swarming with courtiers and their attendants.

Those few gazes surrounding him seemed to alight on him like insects in a swamp, and
Taka soothed his nerves by recalling the time he’d talked his way out of a bandit ambush,
one simple peddler against seven cutthroats. His gift had been to draw a commonality
between himself as a man just struggling to make a living and the bandits’ own plight—
the knaves had been so moved that not only was he sent on his way without a scratch,
but with several sales besides. Although seemingly far removed from twisting mountain
roads and the afairs of the common people, all the obfuscations of the Imperial Capital
could not change the fact that the issue in both cases had been the same: survival. The
Cran Clane fought for not only their lives, but the future of aokugan itself. He needed but
make the Emperor realize what was truly at stake, and fnally, this audience could grant
him the chance.

Trusted servants greeted Taka with deep bows as he entered the palace proper, the
Imperial chrysanthemum picked out on the breast of their livery in jade-colored thread.
“Honored representative of the Crane Clan Yasuki-sama,” annouced the foremost among
the servants, a bright stripe of rank along the wide sleeves of his kosode. “You are to be
received in His Imperial Majesty’s music room. If you would follow me?”

Obligingly, Taka nodded and trailed after the lead servant, who padded along the smooth
floors with a precise and practiced formality—if a bit quickly. A tension rose in the air, like
the sensation of aknot tied too tightly, and the Yasuki daimyō fnally spoke up. “Apologies,
but I am not as young as I once was, and your speed seems a trifle—“

Suddenly they stopped, the servant slid open the shōji screen door and bowed in one
elegant motion. “The music room of His Heavenly Sovereign, honored daimyō,” he
intoned. “I shall leave you in privacy.” Another bow, again just a touch too fast, and the
servant was gone.
Through the doorway was a room lined with elegant instruments: biwa made of rare wood
and gold-touched strings, stretching bronze trees lined with tiny bells, even a rare
shamisen. Strangely, none of the lanterns within the room were lit, but Taka could make
out an indistinct fgure leaning over a long zither, stroking their fngers over the strings.
The Yasuki daimyō bowed deeply as the treshold.

“My most sincere thanks, Heavenly Sovereign, for agreeing to speak with me,” he intoned
—but further speech was cut of by a deep, resonant laugh, melodious as one of the bells
on the bronze tree, and just as warm. Taka nearly jerked upright in surprise, but kept still
and smothered the shock on his face.

“The pleasure is mine—although I fear I cannot claim that title. But his Imperial Majesty,
Hantei the Thirty-Eighth, has given the duty of this audience to me.” The tone was
smooth as the curve of a peony’s petal—or the arc of a katana’s blade. “You may rise,
Yasuki-dono.”

Taka straightened, looking into the icy blue eyes of Kakita Yoshi, daimyō of one of the
great families of the Crane Clan, whose smile never rode north of his nose. “Imperial
Chancellor,” Taka said, infusing his voice with a casual kindness as warm as Yoshi’s smile
and just as sincere. “I would be pleased to speak with you about this most pressing
matter.”

“Of course,” Yoshi repliedm his voice almost a purr. “I apologise for His Majesty’s
absence, but he had other—sudden—business to attend to, and I did not want you to put
on your very fnest for nothing.” He unfolded his fan—which, Taka noticed suddenly, was
not his usual accessory of silk and sandalwood, but a tessen made of pure silver—and its
angled edges glittering as the Crane courtier gestured at Taka’s formal outft. “It is very
striking, indeed. Such fne silk.”

Taka inclined his head in thanks. “I am grateful for such praise. Unfortunately it is not as
elegant as the instruments in this room. Why, I could hardly see you behind that zither!
Do you play, or just admire?”
“I am afraid I lack the leisure time to do more than appreciate instruments.” Yoshi sighed
dramatically. “But perhaps you do? Not the zither, but possibly the mouth harp? It has
such an amusing sound.”

“I fnd the best use of my mouth is to bargain with it.” Taka’s laugh was smooth and
hollow as a blown egg. “May we begin?”

The Imperial Chancellor assented and the men seated themselves, skirmishing with
gestures as they did so. Yoshi fluttered his tessen absently as he gestured delicately with
the other hand. “Now. What can the powers of the Imperial Court do for you?”

“Of course you know of the Crab Clane’s requests, honored chancellor,” Taka began. “It is
common knowledge with the court that the situation along the Kaiu Wall is dire. The
attacks from the Shadowlands grow in size, frequency, and ferocity by the day.”

“But of course,” Yoshi murmured, his deep voice serious. “And the court weeps at your
troubles. But surely you know of the difculties inherent in felding troops to support the
Crab?” The fan snapped shut, and Yoshi tapped the air. “First, traveling by sea is not an
option. If the cost of sending so many ships were not already a burden on the Imperial
Treasury, surely the vessels would be a tempting target for the vile pirates that name
themselves the Mantis Clan. Their leader Yoritomo—may his name be cursed!—has a
vicious streak as deep as the scar on his ugly face. Were but a single Mantis craft to see
those ships, they would be as good as doomed!”

Taka emplyed a knowing nod. “Of course. The depredations of the Mantis are well-known.
Perhaps such a force could travel on land instead? They way would be long, but the need
of the Crab is quite great.”

Again came that smile, accompanied by frozen blue eyes. “Ah, but what peoples would
not be upset at the sight of an army marching throught their lands? Peasants are so
easily frightened. How could I put my people through the anxiety of seeing an army
marching south along Crane roads, into Crab territory.”
“Our clans have not warred for hundreds of years, honored Chancellor.” Taka pointed out
gently. “And Crane roads are not the only path to the south. There exists routes through
Lion lands as well.”

Yoshi tilted his head sympathetically, his fan tapping his chin. “Forgive my memory, Yaski-
dono, but had the Lion Clan not already ofered the Crab their help and been refused?”

Taka eased out a tense breath. “This is so, Chancellor, but the terms the Lion gave were
impossible for the Crab. They required full control over where their troops would be
placed—all respect to the Lion generals, but combat along the Kaiu Wall and against the
horrors of the Shadowlands is something with which they have no experience—“

The tessen waved as if brushing away the protests. “And you imply they could not be
bothered to learn? Alas, such pickiness makes me wonder if the Crab’s need truly is as
great as you say.”

The already-dim room seemed to grow incrementally darker, and Taka spread his hands
genially, as if to ward against it. “Let us speak of jade and weapons, then, and free
ourselves of the idea of hands to wield them. Such a shipment could easily be taken from
Otosan Uchi to Kyūden Hida, far more quickly and with less change of attracting the
Mantis.”

Yoshi gave a pained sigh. “Alas, but the coasts are largely the province of the Crane and
would be the sonnest hit if such a plain failed, and such weapons fell into Yoritomo’s
hands/ The Crab may be short their equipment, but my own people would fnd
themselves beset by a scourge made even stronger!” The Chancellor’s tone tightened. “I
must protect them from the Mantis pirates—or anyone else who might come to own such
weapons, for that matter.”

Taka’s smile grew warmer, as if seeking to melt the opposition. “There is a possibility of
the overland route—“

“Do you not recall my opposition to the march of an army?”

”They could walk more casually, if you like.”

The moment fell, and Yoshi’s smile flattened humorlessly. “Is there anything else, Yasuki-
dono?”

Taka clasped his hands and glanced down, as if holding a run of cards. “If weapons are
too dangerous, then let us discuss jade. The Crab’s supplies are running perilously low,
and without it, our troops are vulnerable to the hideous Taint of the Shadowlands. It is
enough of a burden fghting it outside the Kaiu Wall: we would not see it inflict its agony
and madness within as well.”

“Indeed not!” exclaimed Yoshi, fluttering his tessen to highlight his shock. “But you must
understand that as the Chancellor, I must follow the laws as they have been set. The jade
that has been mined by each clan is meant for them, frst and foremost.”

“Surely, the need of the Crab—“

“Is pressing, indeed!” Yoshi’s sonorous voice was a practiced display of sympathy. “But
does the Crab truly know of the needs of the other clans, needs which I must hear and
address? With each tale, my heart cracks—but I must be as stone and remain resolute,
frm, and unbreakable.”

Taka’s laugh was touched with bitterness. “The Kaiu Wall is made from stone, Chancellor. I
wish it were as unbreakable as your will, but it seems we are not so lucky.”

Yoshi smirked slighly, resting his fan against his cheek. “I am of the unpopular opinion
that there is no such thing as luck, merely the actions of huamnity, or the favor of the
gods—the intent of one or the other. All else is coincidence, as in nature.” He closed his
eyes dramatically. “A lone cherry falls, golden koi swim in circles—“

“An ox voids its bowels,” Taka fnished, and hid his chuckle as Yoshi’s eyes popped open.
“Forgive me, Chancellor. As I said, negotiation is my gift, not music or poetry. And though
one cannot buy anything while the store is closed, I owed it to my clan to try all the
same.” He stood, and bowed low. “With your leave, Kakita-dono, I shall depart.”
“How… rustic.” Yoshi chuckled airlessly, and waved his tessen at the door. “It was a
pleasure, Yasuki-dono. You may go.”

The weather had turned by the time Yasuki Taka left the palace, forcing him into an
agonizingly slow walk to his apartments as diligent servants held a long bamboo umbrella
over his head. The sheeting rain made the long trek all the longer—although no eyes
seemed to be watching him this time, they were screened by dripping boughs of maple
and rhododendron.

In all of Taka’s negotiations—against daimyō, bandits, nobles, and peasants alike—there

had been a core conceitm an uncomplicated certainty at the center. Like a ship at sea, or
a child in a gloomy house, he sought it: the light of I want to make a deal. Whether a
bright brazier or a guttering candle flame, that light made any negotiation possible.

If the Emperor had simply canceled their meeting, Taka would have waited for another
chance to fnd that light in Otosan Uchi. Instead, Chancellor Kakita Yoshi made the
Imperial Court not just a darkness, but a void. The flame hand’t gone out here—it was
never going to catch.

The valiant eforts of the servants prevented dampness from settling into Taka’s clothes,
but sadly, could do nothing for his socks—his tabi were soaked by the time he made it
back to his apartments. Exhausted, and at least a little bit past caring about the specifcs
of formality at this point, Taka gladly peeled them of his feet as he stepped out of his
geta at the entrance and into more comfortable slippers. A servant collected them from
him with a bow, and vanished as expertly as she had earlier that day. Taka frowned after
her for a moment, but sighed and continued to his apartments, sliding the door shut after
him.

He was more than halfway into the room before it hit him, bringing the Yasuki daimyō to a
startled stop. In a corner, a small lantern burned brightly, and beside it a bowl of incense
sent twin tendrils of smoke spiraling into the air. Taka took a deep breath, and found
himself wreathed in the scents of his homeland: cedar and camellia, spicy and warm.

Such relaxation was short-lived, however. Upon opening his eyes, Taka also noticed a
hooded fgure sitting across the room, and he started despite himself. “F-forgive me,” he
stuttered, then cleared his throat and returned to a semblance of calm. “I was not
expecting any visitors, and my servants did not announce you properly. If this incense is
your doing, I thank you kindly for it—and I would know you properly.”

The stranger chuckled warmly and stood, revealing himself to be a tall man with an
athletic build. “Formality is about as familiar to you as those clothes,” he observed,
“although to your credit, you wear both well.” He pushed back his hood, revealing long
black hair, bright green eyes—and a long scar across his face.

“Yoritomo, I presume,” Taka said after a moment, and the stranger smiled and nodded. “A
—unique pleasure.”

The leader of the Mantis Clan grinned. “Unflappable. I admire that. I have been looking to
meeting you for some time. I have a business proposition that you might fnd enticing.”

Taka nodded and was about to inquire further when a large sackcloth was snapped over
his head, and the world was nearly swallowed in darkness. Only the dim light of the
lantern was visible through the cloth, receding as he was carried away.