Rising from the Ashes

by Shawn Carman
Edited by Fred Wan

Somewhere in the mountains in the northern Phoenix provinces

A lone Phoenix samurai knelt motionless in the low scrub brush, his gaze unwavering. It was to the north that he directed his attention, to a crack in the mountains. It was positioned in such a way as to be barely noticeable unless one was looking for it, which Shiba Jouta was. It was thin, barely wide enough for a man to walk through. It needed to be no wider, of course.

A light touch on Jouta’s sleeve broke his reverie. He glanced to his left, where a warrior clad in often-patched brown robes crouched beside him. The man had not been there only a moment before. “This is the place you seek,” he whispered.

“Perhaps,” Jouta returned. “Your benefactor’s information has not yet proven incorrect, but I question any source I cannot identify.”

“His name matters little,” the ronin answered. “All that matters is that the information he supplies can benefit you, and your clan.”

Jouta glanced sidelong at his comrade with a baleful stare. “I have appreciated your help these past few days, Motaro, and I respect your skill with the blade, but do not make the mistake of believing that I trust you. I am not so easily won over as my cousins.”

The hooded man returned Jouta’s stare earnestly. “Do you fear I will betray you?”

“If there is to be betrayal, it will be only after we finish the task at hand,” Jouta said. “Your master would not have sent you if it was not to his benefit that this deed be done.”

The man called Motaro returned Jouta’s gaze evenly. His eyes were the only feature that could be distinguished clearly above the tattered cloth mask he wore on his lower face. “Should it not be done? Does bushido not demand it?”

Jouta turned back to the crevasse and frowned. “It does,” he said grimly.

Motaro nodded, then hesitated. For a moment, Jouta glimpsed true sincerity in his eyes. “Do you suppose the children are still alive?”

Over a dozen children had been taken from Phoenix villages to the south. Peasant children. The matter had not been deemed of any incredible significance. Children ran away sometimes, after all. Still, one of the villages had a magistrate that had taken it upon himself to investigate, and two weeks ago he had been killed. That had attracted the attention of Jouta’s superiors, and he had been dispatched to investigate the matter. “I hope so,” he said. “There will be a reckoning if they have been harmed.”

“Oh yes,” Motaro said, his voice suddenly very cold.

•

The crack in the mountain was indeed wide enough for a man, but just barely. Jouta and Motaro approached cautiously, fearing discovery at any moment. There did not appear to be any manner of lookout, however. The sensation of alarm in the back of Jouta’s mind grew with each passing moment. These were no ordinary bandits, it seemed, and an unconventional foe was one that could not be easily anticipated. Jouta grimaced as he disturbed a small cluster of gravel. The noise seemed to echo endlessly. Normally, the young Phoenix considered himself a graceful warrior, but in the past week he had discovered he knew nothing of true grace. Not like the phantom that moved behind him.

The chasm continued far longer than Jouta would have believed, and although he could not be certain, he believed that it was gradually leading them downward beneath the peaks that were stretching above them. The light grew dimmer until it seemed they would descend into a moonless night. He had just decided that they should turn around when he heard a faint noise echoing up from deeper within the chasm.

Jouta froze in his tracks, holding up his hand to signal his ronin companion. He strained to try and make out the sound, distorted as it was through by its own echo. Jouta could not be certain but it somewhat like voices. Like chanting. “This place,” Jouta said in the faintest whisper. “Something is terribly wrong in this place.”

Motaro nodded. He pointed farther down the chasm, then waved his hand in front of his face and shook his head. His meaning was clear.

Jouta nodded and signaled for the other man to wait. He opened the bag he wore on his hip and delicately reached within. There was a faint clinking sound, and he withdrew a small glass bottle, only half full with liquid. The Phoenix gently uncorked the bottle and brought up the clay water bottle he wore on his other hip. He carefully allowed three drops of water into the smaller bottle, where the liquid began to change color. By the time Jouta had replaced his water on his hip, the smaller bottle had begun to glow very faintly. It was enough to see in the dark chasm, although it did not cast light much farther than that.

Motaro stared at the bottle with an incredulous expression. He glanced up at the Phoenix, his eyes bright.

“Not now,” Jouta whispered. “We must hurry. Time feels short.”

The two men resumed their cautious advance through the chasm. It was not until nearly an hour after they had entered the darkness that they finally reached their destination. Jouta very nearly gave himself away when he began to step through another winding turn in the chasm, only to have Motaro grip his shoulder tightly. For the first time he noticed the pale, almost green light that shone on the rock. He gently placed the small bottle on the ground, hoping that he could find it again before its light faded completely. With a nod to his companion, he cautiously slipped around the corner to discover the answer to a mystery he had been seeking for weeks.

The scene before him was like something out of a nightmare. The chasm had ended in a wide cavern deep beneath the mountains, with only a thin crack along the ceiling that might lead to the night air somewhere far above. The cavern was full of tall, twisting spires of black stone, obsidian perhaps, that almost seemed to form strange, obscene symbols. The only light in the chamber was pale, with an almost greenish hue, and radiated from a large shard of stone in the chamber’s center. Around this luminescent stone were arranged the missing children, all bound and apparently sleeping. Were they drugged? Dead? Jouta did not know. He only knew that if their blood had been spilled, he would wash it away with that of their murderers. And yet, despite the sight of the children in such a state, they were still not the worst part.

Men, or possibly things that merely looked like men, stood throughout the chamber. Even in the dim light, Jouta could see that their flesh was almost completely covered in thick, winding black marks, similar in many respects to the black stone outcroppings. It seemed as though they moved in the shadows, although Jouta could not be certain of that.

Motaro shifted his weight slightly, as if preparing to move. Jouta grabbed the man’s sleeve and held him tightly. The way the chanting men moved, it was obvious the shadows were their home. Even the faint light of their stone seemed to pain them. No, the darkness was no place to fight men such as these, not even for a warrior such as Motaro. Jouta reached into his pouch once again, withdrawing two small bottles tied together with a thin ribbon of silk. He looked back to the ronin and shielded his eyes with one hand. When Motaro nodded, Jouta turned and threw the two bottles into the chamber with all his might.

His aim was true. The bottles landed less than an arm’s length from the glowing stone and shattered. The two fluids contained within mixed, and there was a sudden, brilliant flash as the elements within them mixed. The chanting stopped at once as the chamber suddenly rang out with a chorus of screams. The men recoiled as if burned. Jouta saw his chance, and charged.

As he ran, the young warrior drew his blades. As a child, he had demonstrated great aptitude with the blade, but his angry, tempestuous nature had set him at odds with his brothers and cousins almost at once. The Shiba were a family of warrior-philosophers, dedicated to peace whenever possible. Jouta had no interest in such things, and thus he had been fostered to the Dragon to learn their ways in the hopes that the monastic traditions within that clan might temper his spirit when the Phoenix could not. They had succeeded perhaps, but only partially. In addition to a fascination with the strange, alchemical elixirs the Dragon’s Tamori family produced, Jouta had also come away from the Dragon mountains with the ability to put aside his violent nature most of the time. It always emerged in battle, however, and it was times like these that Jouta embraced it utterly.

The first two men Jouta killed had not even begun to recover from their blindness before he cut them open. He fought through the men like a predator unleashed in a livestock pen. He heard the whispering sounds of Motaro’s strange throwing knives as they struck home again and again. Somewhere deep inside, he wondered where the strange ronin had come from, but for the most part his mind was filled only with battle.

“Heretic!” someone screamed. “Blasphemer! Do you know what you have done?” The man that had stood in the chamber’s center leapt across the divide between the two men and lashed out at Jouta with an unarmed strike. The Phoenix hurled himself to the side, but the blow still glanced off of his shoulder, numbing his arm all the way to his fingertips. “It will take months to begin the ritual anew! I will drink your soul for this!”

For a moment, Jouta’s resolve wavered. He had heard the battlefield ramblings of many enemies, but for the briefest of moments, he believed that this man’s threat was genuine. He threw himself aside again, dodging a second strike. Unbelievably, he heard the stone crack where the man had struck it. “What are you?” he demanded.

“Unworthy filth!” the man shrieked. “I am Bunrakuken, Prophet of the Dead Moon! Through my will and my faith shall Onnotangu rise again! Upon his rebirth shall he feast upon the souls I offer him! Souls of fools like you!”

Jouta let the battle consume him, his eyes wide and wild, his grimace one of pure hatred and violence. The two men circled one another for several long moments, each trying to crush the other’s defense and destroy him. Jouta inflicted several wounds, none of which Bunrakuken seemed to notice. The corrupted monk landed another strike on Jouta as well, but he put the pain away. He would feel it later, if he lived.

In the end, he was not entirely certain how he won. The monk shrieked in primal rage and lunged forward, his hands held out as if to crush the Phoenix warrior’s throat. Instead, Jouta stepped within the man’s reach, striking high and low at once. His wakizashi was buried to the tsuba in the monk’s skull, and his katana disappeared into the man’s midsection.

Jouta stood unmoving for a moment, his breath ragged. With a snarl, he ripped his blades free of his dead opponent, then stood as the blood ran down the blades and mixed with the dust and dirt coating the cavern floor. “It is over, Jouta,” Motaro said softly. “The children still live.” The Phoenix said nothing for a moment, and Motaro continued. “Find your center, Jouta. They say that vengeance is a sin.”

Strange that it did not feel sinful.

•

Nikesake, seat of the Crane-Phoenix alliance

The Shiba estates in Nikesake were extremely modest, in keeping with the family’s philosophy. Indeed, while the castle in the city’s center was immediately obvious to all, the estate where the Shiba maintained their barracks and personal affairs was difficult to locate unless one knew exactly what to look for. It was perhaps this degree of anonymity that made it one of the favorite places for Shiba Mirabu, the Phoenix Clan Champion, to conduct his personal affairs.

Mirabu glanced over the scrolls one last time, then finally looked up. “The children,” he asked. “They all survived, then?”

“Hai, my lord,” Jouta answered with a quick bow. “They were being prepared for some manner of ritual. The monks, if they could be called such, needed their captives alive.”

“Fortunate that you interceded when you did, then,” Mirabu said with an approving nod. “Where is the ronin to which your reports refer? Motaro, was it?”

Jouta shook his head. “I do not know. He disappeared as soon as we got the children out of the chamber where the monks were holding them.”

“I find his participating in this incident somewhat questionable,” Mirabu observed.

“As do I, my lord, but I cannot argue with the benefits of his assistance. Without him, I might not have found the children in time.”

“Then we should thank the Fortunes that we were sent such assistance, from whatever quarter it came.” The Champion frowned at a notation in the samurai’s report. “Explain to me how you and this Motaro came to seek your prey in the northern mountains.”

“There was a matter of several disappearances near Morikage Toshi,” Jouta explained. “I was among those dispatched to investigate. My detail discovered… I suppose it would be called a temple, hidden in the city. It was obscene, devoted to the worship of Lord Moon.”

“Odd,” Mirabu observed. “Lord Moon fell from the heavens nearly fifty years ago. I would have thought those that revered him would have perished long ago.”

“Unnatural forces frequently prolong the lives of those that serve them,” Jouta observed. “We have seen it many times, unfortunately.”

“Too many,” Mirabu agreed. The Champion glanced across the room to another desk where a pile of scrolls waited for his attention. He turned back to Jouta with a resigned expression. “The temple is where you found Motaro, then?”

“Yes,” Jouta continued. “He was investigating the matter as well. He was detained for a while, but his claim that the families of the missing had paid him to seek answers turned out to be true. He volunteered all his discoveries, including the scrolls we submitted for decoding. Then he and I continued our investigation, which in time led to the northern mountains.” He gestured to the scroll. “The rest is all contained within, my lord.”

“Well done, Jouta,” Mirabu said appraisingly. “Well done indeed. Unfortunately, I fear the scrolls your ronin companion discovered have accomplished nothing save to raise more questions.”

“What?” Jouta asked. “I do not understand.”

Mirabu retrieved another scroll from his desk and offered it to the younger man. “The cipher was broken by some of our finest shugenja, students of Asako Bairei. It contains mostly theological ramblings, but there were a number of references to ‘sinister adversaries’ and ‘blasphemers’ that dwell within a ‘city in the forest.’ We are not entirely certain what it means.”

“A city in the forest,” Jouta said quietly. “You do not think they speak of the City of Tears?”

“It is our hope they do not,” Mirabu said. “Nonetheless, we have dispatched men to investigate.

“I would like to join them, my lord,” Jouta said at once.

Mirabu smiled. “They have already departed for the city, Jouta-san. Upon their return, you will join them. Regardless of what they find, there will be more that will need to be done, and I wish you to stand among those standing at the front of this matter.”

Jouta could not contain his grin, but bowed low all the same. “Thank you, my lord. I am honored.”

•

Deep within the Isawa woodlands

It had been decades earlier, during a period of war with an evil entity called the Lying Darkness, when the Phoenix had enacted a ritual to bring five cities through the boundaries of the spirit realms into the mortal world. Each of the cities were aligned with one of the elements, and the City of Water had entered the mortal realm in the deepest regions of the vast forest in the Isawa provinces. Unfortunately, the minions of the Lying Darkness had already infested the city and slain the honorable spirits that lived there, then were in turn slain in revenge for their murderous rampage. Thus, the City of Water was a tomb, a place of grief and mourning, and although the Emperor’s maps recorded it as Mizu Mura, it was called only the City of Tears by those who knew of it. The Elemental Masters declared the city sacrosanct, and it was left in peace within the forest.

The Phoenix magistrates advanced toward the city with reverence, winding their way through the dense forest as best they could. It was difficult terrain at best. They did not speak to one another; they had said all that needed to be said earlier, and had agreed that this sacred place should not be disturbed. They each knew what they must do when they arrived, and had accepted the responsibility with the honor and humility that was proper for a warrior of the Phoenix Clan.

The gunso in command of the unit turned to ensure that his men were keeping pace, then turned back to the faded, ancient trail they followed. To his surprise, there was a man standing in the path where there had been nothing only a moment before. The man was clad in a resplendent red and orange gi, the traditional attire of a monk, and bowed deeply before the assembled warriors. “Greetings, noble sons of Shiba,” he said in a low voice. “I am Asako Makito, monk of the City of Tears. Why have you come to this place?”

The gunso frowned. “I was given to understand that no one dwelled within the city by order of the Elemental Masters.”

“The Masters hold no sway over the Brotherhood, my friend,” the monk replied. “What is the purpose of your visit?”

The gunso’s frown did not disappear, but he nodded respectfully. “Forgive me, brother, but our orders are to conduct an investigation of the city. It is a matter of grave importance.”

Makito bowed. “I regret that I cannot permit such a thing, Shiba-sama. The meditations of my brothers have continued uninterrupted nearly since the city appeared in our lands. We cannot break our reverie, else we risk the city’s fall into tragedy once more.”

“I have nothing but respect for you and your order,” the gunso replied, “and I give you my assurances that our interruption will be minimal. I cannot turn away. My orders are clear.”

The monk’s expression softened. “That is regrettable.”

“I agree,” the gunso said. “Still, what must be done cannot be avoided.”

“In that, we are in perfect agreement,” Makito said. He drew both hands toward his chest, palms facing him, and closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

“What are you doing?” the gunso asked cautiously.

“Ensuring the peace,” the monk said. His eyes opened suddenly and he thrust his hands outward. The gunso had only the briefest moment to see the blood streaking the man’s palm. He turned to shout to his men, but it was too late.

Black fire roared from the monk’s cut palm to wash over the Shiba. In an instant, both they and the forest around them were reduced to blood and ashes.

•

The Chamber of the Elemental Masters, beneath Kyuden Isawa

The stone chamber far beneath Kyuden Isawa was stark and cold, but the men and women who had stood within it over the past thousand years had little need for material comforts. The great stone table within was ancient and all but indestructible, having been broken only once in history and mended soon after to prevent such a thing from ever happening again. Now, as so often in the past, those sitting around the table would decide the fate of their entire clan.

“There is no question, then?” Isawa Ochiai asked. The diminutive Master of Fire led the Council despite her relatively young age. Her perpetually calm demeanor belied the power at her command. “Your men have been destroyed?”

“There can be no other answer, Ochiai-sama,” Shiba Mirabu answered. The Phoenix Champion did not sit around the table, but rather stood near the entrance and addressed the Council as might a supplicant. “They did not return, and all attempts by shugenja to determine their location have failed.”

“The City of Tears is a mystical place, strongly aligned with the magic of Water,” Asako Bairei observed. “It is possible that the sheer potency of the spirits there obfuscates all attempts to discover those within it.” It was the new Master of Water’s tendency to question everything, although his genial nature and sheer brilliance somehow prevented this quality from grating on others.

“I wish very strongly that I could believe that, Bairei-sama,” Mirabu answered. “The men are more than a week overdue, however, and I chose them for their precision and adherence to orders. If they have not returned, there is a reason. And with all deference, I do not find the idea that the city might conceal those within it to be of any comfort whatsoever.”

“I must agree with Mirabu-san,” Isawa Nakamuro said. The Master of Air had ceded leadership of the group to his sister Ochiai due to his impending marriage to a daimyo within the Dragon Clan. “This bodes most ill. Ningen-san, I would hear your thoughts, if you have any on the matter.”

The strange man called Shiba Ningen nodded slowly. As Master of Void, he might be considered the most powerful among the Masters, although many would refute such a claim. “I have spent much time traveling in recent months,” Ningen said. “I have been reviewing correspondence with Isawa Sezaru, and his claims that there is a darkness growing within our midst have concerned me greatly. I have spoken with many among the Agasha family in hopes of finding one that shared their late daimyo’s gift of foresight, but thus far I have found nothing. I believe that the threat exists, however.”

“Perhaps we should call Sezaru-sama to stand among us and discuss the matter,” Isawa Emori said. The Master of Earth was the newest among their number, his predecessor having fallen in battle only months before. “Together perhaps we can build some manner of understanding.”

“No,” Mirabu said suddenly. He quickly bowed. “I mean no disrespect, honorable Masters, but Sezaru-sama has grown more and more troubled of late. I do not wish to involve him in this matter if it can be avoided.”

Ochiai raised an eyebrow. “Mirabu-san, do you mean to suggest that the Emperor’s brother might be involved in this on some level?”

“Absolutely not,” the Champion stated emphatically. He looked at the Master of Fire quizzically. “Do you mean to suggest, Ochiai-sama, that you consider Sezaru completely trustworthy in his present condition?”

Ochiai did not answer, and the chamber fell into an awkward silence for a moment before Emori spoke again. “Perhaps then it might be best if we investigated the matter personally. Ochiai-san, would you care for a romantic stroll into the forest?”

The Master of Fire frowned slightly. “This is hardly the time for such lecherous banter.” A momentary spark in her eye led her to add, “And I think my new yojimbo would make the journey less interesting than you imagine.” She turned to the other Masters. “Bairei, if the City of Tears could be used to hide things from those outside it, who among the Phoenix could wield power sufficient manipulate that? Who could most benefit from dwelling within it? Who could post the greatest risk to us?”

Bairei closed his eyes for a moment, thinking deeply. “There are few with sufficient knowledge and power over Water for such things,” he said quietly. “I can think of but one who might have such ability, but I find the idea of her embracing such a path both unlikely and disturbing.”

“We must know, Bairei,” Nakamuro insisted.

“Very well then,” Bairei said, rising. “I will visit Asako Kinuye at once.”

•

Far south of the Phoenix lands

The man sometimes called Motaro dismounted and stretched, grimacing as the bones in his back creaked from so long spent on horseback. He retrieved a small sack from within the bags his horse carried, untying the knots very carefully to avoid the poisoned needle hidden amidst them. Once the bag was opened, the man tore the cloth mask from his face and cast it aside. From the bag he withdrew a mask of metal and placed it over the lower half of his face. He drew something else from the bag, something white, and placed it discretely in his obi.

“Welcome back, my friend,” a soft voice said. He could hear the smile in her tone without turning around. “I trust all went as intended?”

“Hai,” he answered. He secured the bag back onto the horse, then turned and bowed deeply. “All is as you wish it.”

“You are nothing if not dependable,” she said warmly. “Tell me of it.”

“The cult is finished,” he explained. “Jouta and I infiltrated the temple. The ritual you described had not yet begun, but it seemed they were preparing to begin. We engaged the cultists. The Phoenix defeated Bunrakuken.”

“Where there any survivors?” she asked.

“Perhaps three or four, no more than that. I will hunt them for you if you wish.”

“That will not be necessary,” she replied. “Their order is broken. It is the price of their failure.”

He frowned. “Failure?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Their order fell into darkness decades before Lord Moon’s death. They were weak-willed fools who were subverted by Fu Leng and the Lying Darkness. Only now, decades after the fact, does it occur to them to try and resurrect the power of Lord Moon. They were pathetic failures in every possible respect.”

He shook his head. “How do you know this?”

Shosuro Maru smiled. “I have my ways, Muhito. It is best that you do not know.”

Muhito’s furrowed brow did not relax, but he bowed deeply. “As you wish, my lady.”