L5r - scroll 06 - The Dragon Page 13

  Hitomi could sense that Kachiko and Aramoro had backed away, the Scorpion samurai ready to protect his mistress in case Hitomi went mad. Even in her torturous pain, Hitomi laughed. If she did go mad, there was nothing he could do. No steel, no armor could stop the strength released in her veins. She felt the agony of shadow rushing into her heart, and then the world exploded again.

  Visions flooded Hitomi's mind, visions of times long past and forgotten. Shosuro, Shosuro—the name became a mantra to her. Shosuro, aid me. A vision sharpened, cleared, came forward. She was in a cavern with a man she did not know. He swore his love to her. She turned her back and faded into the shadow. Shosuro and the Scorpion kami, Bayushi.

  The world shifted, and another vision opened before her. Suddenly, she was in a great golden palace, on her knees before a lady as radiant as the sun. Something was wrong. These weren't visions... they were memories, trapped within the hand. Hitomi fought to keep her own consciousness while she gazed at the golden hall that had surrounded her, aware that the things she was seeing were not real. Yet, as she studied them, Hitomi realized something else. These were not Shosuro's memories.

  These were the memories of another being... someone far more powerful.

  Shosuro, Scorpion Thunder, Hitomi prayed, concentrated on the name, and felt her mind begin to tear.

  Another flash. The Shadowlands surrounded her. A white-haired woman with blood smeared across her delicate features howled in pain, slicing through a monster's carapace even as it destroyed her. Shosuro fighting Fu Leng? Other bodies clustered close, and she heard the battle cry of a Matsu warrior maiden. A Crab raised his tremendous axe, and she saw a great pit of bone and blood—Shosuro and the Thunders, fighting in the Shadowlands. Trying to stop Fu Leng before he could destroy the empire. Shosuro again, and Hitomi struggled to keep the vision clear. Her own screams flooded through her, and cold stone gripped her severed wrist. The hand was becoming one with her soul.

  A shift, and she stood among the stars again, with the radiant lady at her side. These were the memories of a being far older than mankind, far too ancient and powerful to have ever been mortal. The lady smiled, and her face shone with gleaming light. Yet there was something sinister surrounding her, something tearing apart the sky around them. Hitomi looked down, and in her hands—obsidian hands—a child's empty blanket rested.

  Flash, and the world righted itself. She was in Otosan Uchi, looking down at her own blood and knowing it to be false. This was Shosuro, Hitomi was certain of it. Bayushi knelt beside her, whispering into her ear, and Hitomi felt Shosuro's body collapse as if dead. The Obsidian Hand, pressed to her flesh as it now was to Hitomi's, pulsed and burned at her side. Each time she chanted Shosuro's name, Hitomi felt her sanity slip, her mind tearing in agony and the tempest of madness. Something was wrong. The Scorpion were wrong. Kachiko's voice floated through the visions, a memory of Hitomi's past.

  Those who tried did not die. I imagine them even now, their faces trapped within the glass, screaming forever between its black fingers ... calling Shosuro's name.

  Shosuro's name.

  The memories of Shosuro were in the hand, and yes, Shosuro had once worn it, but its origins were far deeper than the Scorpion had suspected. Another burst of light erupted from the hand, and the starlight was swallowed by flame. Hitomi stared up into infinity. Celestial stars hovered beside her, playthings for her to touch and move as she desired.

  These were not the memories of a Thunder.

  They contained no mortality at all.

  Shosuro did not have power here—though her soul was part of the hand, it was not her own flesh. Calling to Shosuro would only drive Hitomi mad. She had to face the true origin of the Obsidian Hand, or be destroyed. The hand did not belong to Shosuro, the Scorpion Thunder of a thousand years ago. It was much older than that, older even than the kami who had first created the world. In her celestial vision, Hitomi looked down at the face of the newborn world beneath her and recognized the outlines of the land that would once become the empire.

  The lady beside her, as radiant as the sun.

  The children's blanket. The children were gone, dead by her own obsidian hand. The Moon, who had eaten his children so that they would not challenge his love for his wife ...

  In a flash, Hitomi understood. The hand belonged to On-notangu, the Moon, ancient god of Rokugan and creator of the Celestial Heavens. Why he had never claimed it, Hitomi did not know; it no longer mattered. Only that the hand was now bonded to her skin, to her soul, and that she was now some part of a greater celestial secret; only that mattered. Shosuro had known this, but had not passed the secret on to her clan.

  The Scorpion must have thought that Shosuro's arm had turned to stone, rather than understanding the artifact's true source. In the dream that swelled from the hand's power, Hitomi opened her white eyes and saw eternity. It swirled around her, then began to pull, and Hitomi felt her soul resist. To follow Shosuro was to walk into madness and despair. To allow the hand power over her, to give it uncontrolled rein over her soul, would destroy her as it had destroyed all the other Scorpion that had ever tried to use Shosuro's Hand.

  Hitomi smiled. They had all tried to commune with Shosuro, believing the Scorpion Thunder to be the spirit within the hand. Only Hitomi understood its true origins, and could touch its true nature.

  She had conquered the hand, and made it her own.

  XXXXXXXX

  In the small guest wing of Otosan Uchi, the shadow around Hitomi began to shine with small bursts of light. The light twisted into rays, arcs, and mists of color.

  Kachiko stepped back, placing herself behind Aramoro's protective bulk. She had never been frightened before. Not when the emperor condemned her clan to death, nor when she held her son's dying body in her arms. But this—this strange, uncontrolled magic, the foreign tongue that streamed from the Mirumoto samurai's lips—this was beyond her comprehension.

  Lights swirled, and obsidian shards began to form on Hitomi's arm. The stones worked their way toward her elbow in thinning strands of obsidian, like veins on her pale flesh. Shadows clustered closer, bursting into light and then fading away. Soon, the shadows fell emptily to the ground, resuming their former shapes and turning gray and pale. Reality superimposed itself upon Hitomi's agonized visions, and she looked out the window at the sullen light of the moon. The storm had passed.

  Hitomi stood slowly, lurched forward, caught herself on a wooden beam. After a moment, she pushed herself upright again, and Kachiko could see the imprint of obsidian fingers in the thick mahogany pillar.

  "It is done," Kachiko whispered victoriously. "You are one with Shosuro."

  Hitomi's black eyes reflected the light of the moon as she stared into Kachiko's pale orbs. "Yes, Kachiko-san," she smiled darkly. "I am one."

  SIGHT BEYOND SILENCE

  Toturi looked over the messenger's dispatch, walking briskly through the early morning encampment. The Crab attacks had been light today, still stinging from the heavy Hida losses of the night before. Toturi smiled to himself. Those were losses that the Crab would not recoup into undead—a hundred men, crushed beneath a ton of falling rock and debris.

  The Mirumoto sappers had done their job well.

  Looking up, Toturi called, "Yukihera-sama!"

  The provisional Mirumoto daimyo stood amid his armory, his golden armor making his eyes glow.

  "I have good news," Toturi said, smiling and striding eagerly toward him. He stepped past broken pieces of helms and leg plates.

  "Any news is good news, Toturi. Nearly fifty Dragon died in the pass yesterday, and

  more will fall today if the Hida do not retreat farther." Yuki-hera's bright eyes flashed from weapon to weapon. He lifted a naginata from its resting-place in the arms rack and tested its balance. His golden armor gleamed in the sunlight, hardly scratched by enemy attacks.

  Beside him, Agasha Tamori bowed to the ronin general, barely reaching a polite depth.

  Out of habit, Toturi ign
ored the shugenja and leapt straight into conversation with the Mirumoto daimyo. "One of my messengers to the south may have found something of use. Look at this." Toturi spread the dispatch across an armor plate, unrolling the edges and pointing at the rough map within. "This is a city within the Shinomen Forest. We've known it existed for some time now, but none have gotten close enough to bring reports of the interior. Recently, though, maps were found among the Scorpion holdings—maps of the Shinomen's borders."

  "The Shinomen?" Yukihera asked stridently. "Madness. That's beyond the Crab armies by a full day or more. What could live there? The entire forest is haunted."

  "Not haunted, Yukihera. Guarded. Bodies have been found on the edges of the forest groves—bodies speared by arrows, not by ghosts. The Falcon Clan lives here, far to the north. They speak of seeing ronin move through the forest at night."

  "Ronin? And?"

  "If they are ronin, there is a good chance that many of those men are Akodo. The fallen Akodo will follow me, if I can get a message to them. Enough men, gathered to the south of the Hida and led in a concentrated force against their encampment ... here." Toturi pulled forth another map and spread it across the first, ignoring the wrinkles caused by the laces of his makeshift table. He pointed at the sketch of the Crab armies. "Here is where their necromancers stay. If they can be stamped out, their zombies will die as well. Once that happens, the Crab armies will be at half strength—and we can destroy them." Toturi grinned, stabbing his finger at the map once more. "With even a small force of ronin from the Shinomen, we can crush them. The maho-users aren't guarded, and few of their retainers are positioned this far south of the main encampment."

  "What makes you think we can convince the ronin to help us?" Yukihera asked thoughtfully.

  "The men in that forest have escaped detection and capture. They are capable of defending their position, and of creating a ruse suitable to drive out anyone who would do them harm. Those aren't bandits, and they aren't goblins or ghosts. They're organized, established men. They have the capacity to remain hidden and keep themselves fed and their weapons cared for—and they have the advantage of terrain. I'd guess they are Akodo troops that dispersed after the emperor's order." Toturi fought to keep the bitterness out of his voice. "But there is another possibility."

  Yukihera nodded. "Scorpion." The Mirumoto daimyo ran his fingers through his thick black hair and squinted golden eyes up at the sun. "If they are Scorpion, Toturi, then they will certainly kill any messenger you send. You killed their daimyo, Shoju, when he tried to seize the emperor's throne. Your family hunted and killed them for their treachery during the coup. They might even ally with the Crab, just for good measure. How can you believe that they will join you now?"

  Toturi's keen mind raced through the possibilities, the chances and the options. "There is a way that we can learn the truth."

  "Yes?"

  "Send a Dragon messenger. Someone not connected to me. If they are Akodo ronin, the messenger can deliver my words. If they are Scorpion, the Dragon have the greatest chance to get their assistance. Your troops at Otosan Uchi during the coup were minimal, and your clan has never warred with the Scorpion."

  "You are correct," Yukihera agreed. "That is because we are not prone to flood out of our mountains at the first sign of war." He spoke scathingly, but the irony was lost on Toturi, who was already recalculating the strategies necessary to assault the Crab rearguard.

  "Toturi, I advise against it. More ronin troops are not what we need for this battle. We must find allies in the Phoenix or the

  Crane, not scattered bullies and bandits." Tamori slid a hand over his smoothly shaved head, distress showing in his eyes.

  Toturi smiled at Yukihera and seemed not to recognize Ta-mori's comment. "Fifty men. If your messenger can return with fifty men, we can take this pass and destroy the necromancers. By the time the Hida have even noticed, our men can escape toward Lake Mizu-umi no Fuko and be gone. If we know when they will attack, we can draw the Crab armies forward here, and here," Toturi pointed at two large buttes near the center of Beiden Pass. "And group archers here, to cover their escape." He smiled again, looking down at the map of the battle with a pleased nod. "Victory."

  "You count your victories too soon, ronin," Tamori said scathingly. "Mirumoto Yukihera-sama has not agreed to your plan."

  "No, Tamori-sama," Yukihera said thoughtfully. "I think Toturi's idea shows promise. And I have just the messenger for so delicate and dangerous a task. If the ronin in the Shinomen have taken to shooting arrows at those who attempt to communicate with them, then we shall have to send a messenger who cannot be so easily dispatched. My own cousin, Daini, will go."

  "Daini . . ." Tamori murmured. Before he could protest, Yukihera turned toward him.

  "You would prefer one of your shugenja, Tamori? A thoughtful gesture, but I am certain they would find a horrible death in the Shinomen. You wouldn't want to sentence one of your Agasha to that fate, would you? Or were you suggesting that you go, yourself? Could your magic protect you?" Yukihera's eyes narrowed, and fear flashed over the aged shugenja's weary features. It would be a death sentence.

  "No ... no, of course not. Daini..."

  "Daini is the obvious choice. With full banners and regalia, so that they know exacdy who has come to speak with them. They would not dare assault such an honored samurai." Yukihera's poisonous voice was pleased, filled with smug amusement.

  Tamori nodded, obviously unhappily. It was not his place to question the Mirumoto general's decisions, particularly when those decisions concerned only Mirumoto samurai. There was nothing he could do except pray for Daini's fortune. Still, Tamori expression showed that he was puzzling through a riddle, a riddle whose answer was growing all too clear.

  "Where is Daini?" Toturi asked, glancing up from his maps.

  "At the arch, no doubt, feeding the traitor Mitsu."

  "Yes... Mitsu." Toturi frowned. "I wish you could find it in your heart to grant the Togashi a reprieve. He seems an honorable man."

  Yukihera fingered the tanto in his obi as he replied sternly. "An honorable man who raised his hand against his daimyo is an honorable man who deserves to die. There will be no reprieve." Placing the naginata back on the weapons rack, Yukihera headed for the center of the Dragon encampment.

  Tamori followed him, brow furrowed with the riddles in his mind.

  xxxxxxxx

  Daini stood beside the rough wooden arch, lifting chopsticks with rice to the tortured ise zumi's mouth. "Easy, Mitsu-san. There is plenty, and you will only choke yourself if you swallow without chewing." For two days, the ise zumi had hung from the arch, his back bloodied by whip marks and his arms stretched by his own weight.

  "Daini," the sharp command came from the side of the clearing. Yukihera and Agasha Tamori approached. They marched up the hillock toward the torii arch, Tamori's yellow robes fluttering in the stiff breeze. Something about the shugenja's walk seemed preoccupied, but Yukihera's strides were certain.

  "Hai, Daimyo," Daini fell to his knees, holding the bowl close to his youthful chest. His thin mustache covered the angry curl of his lip as he watched Yukihera approach. The barely conscious Mitsu did not move, but lowered his eyes.

  "I have a mission for you. To gain allies from the south." As Yukihera spoke, Mitsu's head craned upward angrily. Yukihera scowled. "No, ise zumi. These are ronin, possibly some few castaway Akodo samurai hiding in the Shinomen. Your ordeal is not yet over, though you may soon wish that it were." Yukihera smiled beneath his golden helm, the ornate horns of his helmet catching the sunlight and casting bright flashes of light. "How many men have died since you were hung upon the arch. Togashi?"

  "Seventy, my lord," the tattooed man's voice was hoarse from dehydration, but still strong. "And I have felt each man die." The riddler smiled crookedly, peering at the Mirumoto daimyo through one sweat-filled eye. "Have you?"

  Yukihera ignored Mitsu's words and turned again to the kneeling Daini. "You will take the stro
ngest horse and head through the southern trails, over the mountain range. Once past the Crab lines, you will turn west, until you reach the Shinomen Forest. This map," Yukihera held out the crumpled piece of parchment that Toturi had been using as a guide, "will show you where to go."

  "Into the Shinomen Forest?" Daini's eyes widened with anger and surprise. "Yuki—My lord, no man has ever entered the Shinomen Forest and lived. The ghosts there feed on the flesh of samurai and make weapons of their bones."

  "Yes, I've heard." Yukihera grinned sadistically. "A perfect ending for you, Daini. Broken and fed upon, like your pitiful sister."

  Tamori stepped away, turning his face from the conflict. He stared at the nearby mountains as if wishing they were the jagged peaks of his home. Daini's gaze flickered back and forth between the two daimyo, recognizing the silent contention between them. One riddle answered. Tamori was no more Yuki-hera's ally than Daini... but they were both Yukihera's pawns.

  With slow determination, Daini rose to his feet. "Do not speak of Hitomi. You are not worthy even to say her name. And neither am I."

  "You are still young, Daini, but I will not tolerate such disrespect. I am your daimyo." Malice dripped from each syllable.

  "Not until Yokuni has agreed. The decision is his."

  Yukihera sneered. "He will have no decision to make. Soon,

  I will be the only choice. The Mirumoto line will survive, Daini—through me."

  Daini ground his teeth in rage, unable to argue with his commander. Bushido demanded the respect of a soldier to his general; the riddle insisted that one know his place in all things. This was a battleground ... but not one where Daini could fight.

  And still, Tamori looked away.

  Daini nodded. "I do not think it will be as simple to destroy me as it was to murder my sister, Yukihera-sama." Daini spat the honorific.