The Path of Shinsei

by Rich Wulf

He had lingered here too long.

Rosoku knew that he had been foolish, selfish. His father had drawn a promise from him, a promise that the Empire would not be without Shinsei’s wisdom. It was important that his line remain hidden so that a descendant of Shinsei might step forward to guide Rokugan on the next Day of Thunder, but he could not deny his father’s dying wishes. Thus he had come here, to Toshi Ranbo, to offer his aid to the Emperor. As he sat cross-legged in the gardens of the Imperial Palace, Rosoku contemplated the reasons he remained.

There was no reason, not a logical one. His objective was accomplished long ago. The Books of the Elements had already been placed. The challenges that would lead the Keepers to find them had already been established. Yet he was still here. Rosoku frequently snuck forth from the palace to explore the city and the nearby villages, helping the people when he could, teaching those who needed guidance. It was a welcome change, actually aiding other people instead of remaining hidden in the secret ancestral temples. Rosoku realized that this was why he truly remained. This was why he made excuses to instruct the Keepers for just a few more days.

Hidden in the temples, his life would ultimately mean nothing. He would merely live and die and pass the mantle of Shinsei to another. A thousand years from now, perhaps, his sacrifice might mean something but to those who lived in Rokugan today it was meaningless.

How could he hide away from the people when he had the power to help, the willingness to teach? Perhaps the Bloodspeakers would not have been able to hide themselves so deeply among the willing populace if the sons of Shinsei had been here to offer an alternative to Iuchiban’s madness. With their master gone, the remnants of their cult might seek desperate vengeance against the Emperor. Would Toturi not need his guidance to protect against such an event?

Rosoku chided himself for his arrogance. He was just a man. Descendant of Shinsei or no, he could not save the Empire alone. No man could do that. Yet to stand among the heroes of Rokugan, to see the sacrifices they made in the name of duty and honor, Rosoku wondered if he could return to hiding in the shadows.

He had come to change Rokugan, and instead he found it had changed him. He wanted to stay. Was that selfish?

The monk scowled with indecision and rose, plucking his staff from where it leaned against a bubbling fountain. He strode through the halls of the Imperial Palace, hoping that a change of surroundings would help him clear his troubled mind.

Few paid him any particular attention. Rosoku was adept at not being noticed, a talent that Shinsei’s descendants had frequently found useful. Sometimes even the monks who dwelled in the temple with him, those who had charged their lives to his protection, failed to recognize him. If he wished, Rosoku could appear as nothing more than a humble and unassuming monk, not extraordinary in any way and ultimately quite forgettable. There was nothing magical about it; it was a simple learned skill. The descendant of Shinsei made his way into the Emperor’s Court, taking a position in the rear of the crowd as he watched the Son of Heaven address his subjects.

Rosoku could not help but worry for the weary look on Toturi Naseru’s face. The Emperor was a difficult man to read, but it was clear to Rosoku’s eye that Naseru was troubled. Rosoku knew that there were others who sought to manipulate and undermine the Emperor’s power. They called themselves the Gozoku, taking their name from a powerful conspiracy in days of old. Few even knew about them, and those who did were either a part of the conspiracy or had no idea how much power they truly wielded. They had deftly turned public opinion against the Emperor following the Rain of Blood.

Twice before Iuchiban had brought the Empire to its knees and demanded an alliance of the Great Clans to defeat him. Faced with such a foe so early in his reign it was to the Righteous Emperor’s credit that he dealt with the crisis as quickly as he did, but the Gozoku took advantage of the situation regardless. Naseru had made many enemies during his quest for the throne, and the Gozoku found those enemies and offered them power.

Rosoku looked to the small crowd of samurai that stood just to the right of the throne. One of them was a tall, broad-shouldered man who wore the armor of a Phoenix but had the wide, chiseled features of a Lion. This was Kaneka, the Shogun, the man who many said wielded true power in the Imperial City. The Imperial Legions answered directly to his commands. Though he claimed to protect the Emperor, Rosoku wondered. Naseru and Kaneka’s hatred for one another during their respective quests for the throne had nearly torn the Empire apart once. The truce they had formed had brought peace, but Naseru had fulfilled his side of the bargain in an unexpected manner. Kaneka kept his titles and rank, but was stripped of his army and former allies. It had been a cunning attempt to buy time, to allow the new Emperor to build power and influence without the Shogun’s interference.

That time was now past. The Shogun had earned respect and had built his army anew. His power and influence now rivaled the Emperor’s, and perhaps even the Gozoku stood beside him. Rosoku studied Kaneka’s face, searching for any signs of the man’s true intent. Like his half-brother, Kaneka was a difficult man to read.

Rosoku looked upon the Emperor again. The Son of Heaven appeared to be listening intently to an Iuchi lord’s reports of bandit incursions within his provinces, but his eyes occasionally shifted to the Shogun’s retinue. The Emperor was the liege lord of all Rokugan, but he was also just a man. Prior to his quest for the throne, Naseru had earned a reputation for cunning and ruthlessness. His teacher had been the Steel Chrysanthemum, a former Emperor whose fear that his rule would be usurped by his family had led to a reign of tyranny and oppression. What if the Gozoku’s manipulations transformed Naseru into another Steel Chrysanthemum? What if the Shogun were the only one who could protect the Empire?

But he was perhaps not the only one. Rosoku looked at the thin man who stood just to the left of the Emperor’s throne. He was a unique figure, garbed in blood red robes, white hair spilling over his shoulders with patches of black at the temple. This was Sezaru, the Wolf, the youngest of the Emperor’s brothers. The Wolf’s eyes scoured the crowd relentlessly, like his predatory namesake. His gaze shifted immediately to Rosoku, sensing the descendant of Shinsei’s attention. Sezaru peered at him suspiciously for a long moment before nodding his head in respect and returning to his vigil.

Sezaru had always been a soul tormented by incredible power, the legacy of his Oracle mother. His journeys beyond the borders of Rokugan had changed him, as had his duel against Iuchiban. Sezaru had always been a man of peace, the moderating voice between Emperor and Shogun. Yet now, when Rosoku looked into Sezaru’s eyes, he was afraid.

Perhaps the time had come to leave.

Rosoku quietly withdrew from the crowd and walked the halls of the Imperial Palace once again. Looking upon those who he had come to guide did little to ease his troubled mind. The sons of Toturi were all samurai. Each embraced bushido in his own way, but each was also deeply flawed. Naseru was a great leader, but also had great capacity for cruelty. Kaneka was honorable, but ambitious. Sezaru bore great wisdom and magic, but madness boiled deep within him. In the end would their virtues conquer their flaws? What could a simple monk like himself do to guide such great men from the path of tragedy?

Rosoku wondered if his ancestor, Shinsei, had wondered the same thing once. Only one thing was certain, Shinsei had not hesitated. If he did not offer his aid at all, then he would have already failed. Torn with indecision, he looked back toward the Emperor’s throne room.

“Rosoku-sama,” whispered a man’s soft voice. “Is that you, wise one?”

Rosoku turned to face the newcomer, somewhat surprised that he had been recognized. A thin, unassuming man in the elaborate robes of a courtier approached, bowing deeply.

“How may I aid you, my son?” Rosoku asked.

“I just want a word,” the man said with a polite smile as he approached. “Just one word.”

Rosoku studied the man curiously. The stranger’s features shifted, becoming a twisted mask of burnt flesh and exposed bone. Before Rosoku could defend himself, the man had buried a clawed hand in the descendant of Shinsei’s chest. Alarms rang throughout the palace as the creature cast away its disguise. Even this far from the throne, the palace wards reacted instantly, causing the creature’s flesh to burst into jade flame even as it revealed its Taint. Shugenja and Imperial Guardsmen flooded into the halls, surrounding the intruder.

The assassin was doomed, but it was too late.

“Just one word.” Shukumei the Bloodspeaker cackled as he fell to his knees in pain. Rosoku fell beside him, and Shukumei clenched his fist over the descendant of Shinsei’s heart. “Die.”