Legacies

 

by Nancy Sauer

Editing & Development by Fred Wan

 

 

 

She could see in the dark, and hear her prey’s heart beat, and smell the blood that flowed and pooled beneath the thin veil of skin. All this, true, had been given to her. But she could also feel the sandpaper grit of dirty clothes against her skin, taste every bitter and rancid flavor in her food, smell every rotting thing around her. It overwhelmed her sometimes with the pain of it all, left her weak and huddled, desperate to shut it all out. Those times never lasted long – there was always someone who mistook pain for weakness, and then the pain receded for a while, washed away by glorious red. She closed her hand into a fist, watching as gobblets of flesh and blood ran through her fingers. It was glorious, but it never lasted.

“Perhaps it is because you are still bound to the mortal world,” he said. She hadn’t heard him arrive, but she had become used to that over the years. “Perhaps the death of your mother’s entire bloodline would set you free.” She considered first his words, then the silky note of truth that wove through them. She smiled.

 

           

Matsu Takeko sighed to herself as she wove through the camp, bokken in hand. It had been a long day of travel, but no matter how tired she felt she wasn’t going to sleep until she had done her evening drills. Her sensei had been very firm about the necessity of daily practice. Still, the young woman thought, she might skip a few of the kata tonight – it wasn’t as if she had spent the day lying around doing nothing. And since everyone else had worked in their drills before dinner, she would have the training area to herself. She rounded a corner and saw to her chagrin that she would have a witness after all; someone was there, gracefully going through the Wing Breaker kata. Her eyes narrowed in thought as she realized who it was: Matsu Robun. Robun had been a rising young star in his family until he killed a Crane samurai in an illegal duel. The act could have ended his honor and his service to the Lion forever, but Akodo Setai and Kitsu Katsuko had given him the opportunity to set right his error. He had discharged his mission with honor, and now he was being sent to the west to fight the Unicorn.

Takeko took a deep breath to settle her spirit and then strode briskly onto the training area. Robun had gained the ear of important people in the clan, and this was her chance to impress him. “Good evening, Robun-sama,” she said, bowing.

“-sama?” he said, looking both amused and faintly surprised. “I do not think I deserve so much respect. Particularly from you, Takeko-san.”

Takeko blinked. “You know who I am?” she said.

“Akodo Setai told me about you,” Robun said. “He was greatly impressed by your actions in Toshi Ranbo.”

“I did what any Lion samurai would have done,” Takeko said. She paused, trying best to decide how to proceed. ‘When in doubt, go forward’, her sensei had always said. “But if you share Setai’s opinion, then perhaps you would be able to help me.”

“Help you? How so?”

“I want to join the Lion’s Pride,” she said, feeling somewhat foolish for saying it aloud. All Matsu girls grew up wanting to join the Pride. “Would you speak my name to Kenji-sama? I need to catch her attention.”

“I would be surprised if you did not already have it,” he said. “Even in our family defeating two samurai and running half a mile with an arrow embedded in one’s ribs is a notable achievement. If you wish me to speak to her, you need to tell me something new you have done.”

Takeko stared at him with a small frown on her face. Then she lifted her bokken and assumed an attack stance. “Tell her that you sparred with me,” she said evenly, “and that I beat you once.”

Robun smiled and took his own stance. The two Matsu samurai stood facing each other, eyes locked, waiting for the moment. And then the screaming began.

 

           

            “I am getting too old for this in truth,” Matsu Ketsui said. She paused to stretch some of the kinks out of her back and then knelt down across from her visitor. She sniffed at the aroma of the brewing tea and began to pour cups for the two of them.

“No one thinks that,” Matsu Kenji said, accepting a cup.

“They should. I have passed the Matsu on to you, I should stop trying to meddle.”

“It is not meddling to attend a strategy conference at the invitation of your Champion,” Kenji said.

“Strategy is an Akodo game,” Ketsui said dismissively. “Still, I think that having us in the room will keep Hachigoro and Sadahige alert.” She exchanged smiles with Kenji before sipping at her tea. “And when it is all over, I’ll go back home to see how Chieri is doing.”

Kenji shook her head. The Lion Clan Champion, married to a Doji courtier. She still couldn’t get over it. “I would have thought that Domotai could have found someone more... suitable for Yoshino.”

“I thought so as well, at first,” Ketsui said. “But two days after their marriage she summoned all of Yoshino’s estate managers and sweetly asked them to explain their accounts to her, so that she could fulfill her duties as his wife. Six days later she was managing them all herself. About two weeks after that the managers figured out that she was managing them. She’ll do well by him.”

“In the end, we all find our own battlefields,” Kenji said thoughtfully. She drained her tea, eyes fixed on something not in the room.

“True enough,” Ketsui said. She waved her hand towards the pot. “More tea?”

“Thank you, Ketsui-sama,” Kenji said, “but no. I must make the rounds of the camp, and see that everything is secure.”

The older woman smiled in approval. “Of course. Go with honor, Kenji.”

 

           

Takeko and Robun looked at one another. Without a word the two dropped their bokken and raced towards where the horses were kept. When they arrived they found a scene out of nightmare: the sentries were being pulled down by a mob of goblins while still more goblins danced along the edge of the herd, slashing at the horse’s legs and driving them mad with fear. “Matsu!” yelled Robun, sweeping out his katana and charging into the mob. Takeko followed in his wake.

It was easy at first; the goblins were too enraptured with the sentries they were killing to notice the newcomers. Takeko swept her katana in smooth, controlled arcs, each swing bringing down a goblin. It could not last, she knew, but she wasn’t worried. The noise would soon bring others, and in any event this was what she had been trained to do. A few goblins turned towards her, attracted by the noise of their dying comrades, and Takeko charged to keep them off balance for as long as she could. “Matsu!” she yelled.

“MATSU!” came an echoing shout, and the goblins began to run as more Lion samurai joined the fray. Takeko killed a few more who weren’t quick enough, but the battle was over.

“Robun-san,” one of the newcomers called out, “what happened here? Where are the sentries?”

“There,” Robun said, pointing. The man looked, then flinched and looked away.

“Robun-san,” Takeko said, “you are wounded.”

“A shallow bite,” he said with a shrug. “It didn’t damage any muscle, so it can wait.” He flashed a smile at her. “Go find Kenji-sama and report to her – I think she was dining with Ketsui-sama tonight. The rest of us will guard the horses until she decides what she wants done.”

“Yes, Robun-san!” she said, and took off at a run.

 

           

The door to her tent rustled and one of her honor guards stuck her head through. “Ketsui-sama, there seems to be some sort of disturbance on the far edge of camp.”

“An attack?” Ketsui asked. They were still well within the Lion lands, but she wouldn’t put it past the Unicorn to sneak in some raiders.

The guard hesitated. “It is difficult to say. Kabocha thinks something is bothering the horses – she says she can hear them.”

“We will stay here unless an alert is sounded,” Ketsui said. It pained her to say the words, but there was no help for it. If she went out everyone in camp would be falling over themselves trying to protect her while simultaneously trying to make it perfectly clear that they were not trying to protect her. Being a dowager could be incredibly annoying, she mused. No wonder so many of her predecessors had found ways to die in battle. “Hai, Ketsui-sama,” the guard said, and returned to her post outside the tent.

Ketsui finished her tea, rose, and went to the rack that held her daisho. She had slid her wakazashi into her obi and was picking up her katana when something hit her hard in the back, upsetting her balance and causing her to drop the sword. She spun about, looking for what had hit her, and saw a figure standing in the doorway of her tent.

It had matted hair of some dark, indeterminate color and jaundiced skin. The body beneath the torn and blood-spattered kimono was so thin as to be bone and skin alone, with no grace of muscle or fat to soften it. The face too was skeletal, but as Ketsui traced the arcs of chin and cheekbone a name rose up in her horrified mind.

“Hello, Mother,” the figure said.

“You are no child of mine,” Ketsui whispered.

“Would that this were true,” Satomi said. “But it is not, and so I have business with you.”

Ketsui swiftly reached down without taking her eyes of of Satomi, trying to grab the katana she had dropped, and entangled her fingers in hair. She looked down and found herself looking at Kabocha’s head. The dead woman’s face was contorted into a look of pain and fear, and after a moment of shock Ketsui flung it away from her and reached for the katana that had laid next to it. Satomi reached her first.

“Did you even wonder what had happened to me?” Satomi asked. She seized Ketsui by her arms, lifted her up, and brought her down on the daisho rack. The older woman felt bones crack. “Did you look? Did you care?” Satomi lifted her up and slammed her down again, and this time wood as well as bone broke with the force of the blow. “Well?”

There was an inarticulate scream behind her, and she released Ketsui as she turned around. A young Matsu samurai was rushing across the tent towards her, katana held ready for an overhead strike. Satomi took two steps forward and grabbed the blade as it descended, shoved it so that the hilt struck the newcomer in the face, and then tore it out of her hands.

Takeko reeled back, trying to think. She had not hesitated when she found the mangled bodies of the guards outside of Ketsui’s tent – everyone else had been drawn to the camp’s perimeter, to guard against attack, and she could not abandon the dowager to whatever had killed the guards. But against this thing’s speed and strength it seemed that all that she could accomplish would be to die in the same fight as Ketsui. Takeko caught her balance and threw herself back towards the monster, wakizashi drawn. So be it, she thought.

Satomi allowed her to get in close enough to cut, then grabbed Takeko by the wrist and flung her down and sideways. “Kittens have sharper teeth than you,” she said, kicking her hard in the ribs. She picked the younger woman up with one hand holding a wrist and another a shoulder. “The guards were far more dangerous – let me show you how they died.” Satomi started to pull. The younger woman stiffened and stifled a scream as the arm started to dislocate, and then Satomi released her in surprise as pain blossomed in her chest. Looking down she saw several inches of sword-blade sticking out of her. “No child of mine would turn her back on an enemy who still breathed,” said Ketsui from behind.

 

           

Kansen nibbles, Kenji thought to herself. Goblins. Why goblins? It made no sense. Moto raiders, she had expected. Dragon samurai or Daidoji skirmishers would have been unexpected, but at least there was a precedent for it. But goblins? She shook her head, trying to clear herself of unease. An attack out of nowhere by a previously unexpected foe was reason enough for upset, but there was something more to it. There was something about the scent of the evening wind, or the tension in the air, that reminded her of – of –

A bloody garden in Kyuden Otomo.

Kenji stood perfectly still for a moment, and then turned to the member of her own guard closest to her. “Rindou, you and the others stay here and strengthen the watch. I am going to check on something.” Before the woman could say anything Kenji started to run. If it was a foolish fancy there was no need to pull anyone from important duties. And if it was really a warning from her ancestors then she would deal with the matter personally. She pulled her katana from its black-laquered sheath as she went.

 

           

Satomi roared and threw back her elbow, sending Ketsui flying. She pursued her, ignoring the sword stuck in her chest, and punched the older woman in the jaw with all the force of her rage. Ketsui went down and Satomi reached back and pulled the katana out. With the blade in one hand she grabbed Ketsui with the other and shook her. “Nimuro,” she said, and shook harder. “Domotai,” she said, and shook harder still. “Satomi!” she said, and this time she shook Ketsui so hard that her teeth rattled.

“What about Satomi?” asked Kenji. She stood in the doorway of the tent with steel in her hand and rage in her heart. The urge to rush into battle was strong, so very strong, but she smothered the impulse. The bodies of the guards outside the tent told her how dangerous her enemy was, and she would need all of her strength and skill to kill it. And kill it she would, for every breath it took defiled the honor of her family, of Ketsui, of the person the real Satomi had been.

“Why, it is Kenji. Excuse me, Kenji-sama.” Satomi smiled bitterly. “My replacement in the Matsu. And in my mother’s heart.” She raised her katana and drove it into Ketsui’s abdomen, then pulled it out with a side-slash. “I’ll kill you, as well,” she said, dropping her mother’s body. She considered dropping the sword and killing Kenji with her hands, but the sword in the other woman’s hands gave her pause. The dark sheen of its blade told her it was not the same one she remembered, and she mistrusted any sword that Matsu Kenji could give her heart to. Keeping the katana meant staying out of Kenji’s zone, and having the pleasure of killing her with Ketsui’s own blade. Satomi flicked it sharply, flinging the mingled black and red bloods off the blade, and settled into a stance with sword held high.

Kenji risked a quick sweep of her eyes around the tent, sizing up the situation. There was a young woman in the corner, favoring her right side and arm and staring at Satomi with a mixture of hate and fear. Kenji gave her a quick glare that warned her to stay out of this – she would have problems enough without having an injured novice underfoot. Then she took two steps in and stopped, ready.

A moment passed, silent and still, and then the two were in motion. Satomi came in with an overhead strike; Kenji parried, forcing the blade down and away, tried for a cut and immediately found herself in another parry. Steel cried out against steel and her blade slipped free and up and in towards Satomi, tracing a line of black across her upper left arm. Then Kenji threw herself back as her enemy’s sword flashed before her eyes and she staggered as she found herself treading on something lumpy and soft. Ketsui’s body, she realized sickly and simply gave up trying to recover her footing, heading for the floor instead. She hit hard but her left hand was already in motion, seizing the small table near her head and flinging table, teapot and cups at Satomi, who was rushing in with sword held high. She followed the momentum of her arm and rolled over and up, finishing with her standing facing Satomi. It was then Kenji realized that she was bleeding from a cut over her left eye, and she snapped her head to the right to keep the blood from blinding her.

“Do you think that this scratch will slow me?” Satomi asked. “I grow stronger in violence and pain!”

“Do not give yourself airs,” Kenji said. “So do I.” Her mind worked furiously. She knew from experience that the women in Ketsui’s personal guard were all highly skilled bushi, but the two outside the tent had been torn apart with their swords unbloodied. Clearly the sword was slowing the monster down, which meant it was a mistake for it to use it. Also, it seemed to have forgotten everything Satomi had known of swordsmanship, which made it a stupid mistake. Kenji didn’t exactly object to having enemies make stupid mistakes, but it made it harder to anticipate what they would do next. The solution to that, of course, was to make them try to anticipate her.

Kenji launched her attack, closing the zone and forcing the advantage of her superior skill. Once and again she turned Satomi’s blade to the outside, and then she had it: a clear path from shoulder to hip. Kenji made the cut, putting all of her strength into it, and was rewarded with a shriek from Satomi as she staggered back, black blood and worse pouring out of the wound. “My...mother’s...bloodline...” she gasped out, collapsing. Kenji reversed her blade and removed her head.

In the sudden stillness Kenji took several steps back and dropped to her knees beside Ketsui’s body. “I am sorry, Ketsui,” she said, bowing down. “I was too late for you. But it is dead now. Be at peace.”

 

           

She had wanted Matsu Kenji’s attention, and now she had been appointed as Kenji’s errand-runner until her arm finished healing. Takeko stood to the side of Kenji’s entourage and tried to convince herself that the taste of ashes in her mouth was simply the last bit of smoke from the smoldering pyres outside of camp.

Everywhere the camp was in motion, preparing to move. Most would be going on with Kenji to the west, where Yoshino and his generals waited. The remainder of Kenji’s personal guard would stay to escort the bones of the fallen back to Shiro Matsu to await the remainder of their funeral rites. And a small group had been detailed for a grimmer, sadder, task.

A murmur went around the area as a man in monk’s robes and a newly shaven head approached, and several people moved their hands closer to their swords. He stopped some distance from Kenji and bowed. “Matsu-sama,” he said, “I would like to thank you for allowing me to stay for Matsu Ketsui’s funeral rites.”

“You deserved that much, Robun,” Kenji said. “You were a samurai of the Matsu once.”

He nodded. “It was a life of challenge and honor. I will go now, to face a different challenge. May the ancestors watch over you, Matsu-sama.” He bowed deeply and departed, followed by a Kitsu and two Matsu samurai.

Takeko looked at the ground. Smoke, she told herself. That was smoke in her eyes. Robun’s wound had been promptly treated and forgotten, but had taken on an odd, festering look the next day. The healer had finally consulted a shugenja, who had identified it as Taint. Everyone in camp had then been checked, but only Robun had been affected. Now he was being escorted to a monastery, where he would spend the rest of his life fighting the enemy in his own flesh. It would be a lonely, inglorious fight.

“Time to go, Takeko-san,” Kenji said. The young woman looked up and nodded. Dwelling on pain merely dishonored the fallen. The days moved on, and she would move with them.