Chapter 5
Summer Court, 1236 - Second City
During the long, hot nights of Summer Court, Arahime focused on one goal and one goal only: avoiding Seiho, the Warlord’s grandson. It was not expected that she remain in her armor throughout the days of the court; she wore it anyway. Mushari did not require a yojimbo’s presence for every single meeting or walk across the Palace grounds; she walked with him anyway, hand resting on her obi. The old diplomat accepted the close guardianship of his young yojimbo with gentle patience, even though she did not speak with him of her troubles. The duelist held his papers, carried his gifts, and set up the braziers he would use to make tea. During the hot middays, Mushari returned to the Crane embassy. Arahime was able to sleep, study, or play go with the pleasant old man. He enjoyed telling stories of the Colonies and the things he had learned since he arrived here, and invited her to read to him when his eyes pained him. Arahime came to appreciate the quiet.
After a long evening spent watching the Doji meet irascible Ota and hot-tempered Nobumoto with equal amounts of calm pleasantry and unrelenting determination, Arahime had to ask him how he did it. Mushari smiled gently and poured her a cup of cool, sweet water of the coconut, flavored with matcha.
“My parents were courtiers of the Doji. Famous. Honored. Very well versed in the arts of diplomacy from the beginning of my family line. But when I was born, during the peaceful reign of the Empress Iweko, I had a great difficulty. For the fortunes saw fit to laugh at my family’s excess by afflicting me,” he expressed his mild amusement, “with a stutter.”
Arahime blinked, having never heard the courtier speak less than flawlessly.
He smiled as he continued. “This, of course, earned me much mockery. But my father was a wise and kind man, and he taught me well. You know the five lessons of Lady Doji?”
Arahime nodded. All those trained in a Crane dojo are taught about the five lessons, though as a bushi she was not necessarily expected to practice them all.
Calligraphy: Your words are important and valuable. Once committed, they can never be taken back.
Ikebana: All things that are can be seen from many different perspectives and are transient. Significance depends on where the viewer stands at the moment it is viewed.
Painting: What you perceive is filtered and colored by your own moment and understanding; you must broaden your understanding to perceive what is timeless and essential.
Poetry: Words may have many meanings. One must look to the heart to know what is true.
Origami: To reach a desired end requires patience and the completion of many small steps done with excellence.
Mushari smiled. “It is good the lessons have not been lost, even when so much else has. My father was determined and persistent. Every day he worked with me to improve my speech. It took many years. I suppose it is a benefit that, shielded from the world as we were for many of the dark years of the war, I benefited greatly from the time I was able to practice. However, I will never forget the jeers of my classmates, many of whom came from even greater families than mine. My father told me that those who taunted me were unworthy of my anger. That it is not our lineage or skill that gives us value. It is our deeds that prove our worth. It helps me remember that, each day, I get to choose my own worth. I could prove worthy of my father’s patience and my family heritage. Or I could choose to be unworthy, such as the ones who taunted me, and let their taunts drag me to their level. I choose to rise above. The actions of those who diminish us make them small. They are not worth my anger. Instead I choose to give them the opportunity to rise.” He sipped his drink. “Sometimes they do.”
Doji Mushari sadly watched his yojimbo go back to her own room for some sleep. She was courteous, intelligent, sensitive. A pleasure to talk with. Maybe a little tempestuous, but that is a luxury for the young. Though he’d not yet been able to see her in combat, he had watched her in her daily kata and did not doubt her focus and lethality. It was ill fortune, and the popularity of that cursed play, that put her in Arashi Seiho’s sights, and the man was a bore. From the gifts, like the stone spheres he’d sent on the first day of summer court, to the petitions for her time, to the endless ‘accidental’ run-ins, the young man refused to accept Arahime’s rejection of him. Jealousy and the current state of the Crane won her no friends among the cad’s peers. The courtier could not blame the young woman for sticking close, though Mushari privately wished, for her sake, she’d been able to make at least one friend. She seemed so lonely and unhappy. It was not a life he would choose for her.
But it might be one the Fortunes would see fit to choose. The older courtier pulled from his sleeve the letter he had received that morning. It was written with friendship and in informal style, frangipani and the scent of vanilla and warm cream paper. But the hand that wrote the calligraphy was well known to him. The Warlord Arashi’s oldest, and most faithful, advisor, Tenmei Nasuko. It was a simple inquiry: had any arrangements been made in Rokugan for the hand of the lovely Kakita Arahime? With those words, Mushari knew the Warlord had noticed his grandson’s interest in the young Crane and thought to temper the young man’s churlish ways with Crane discipline and courtesy. Whether the Crane in question wants it or not.
Mushari sighed. The match was not a bad one. Seiho was likely to inherit the position his grandfather held, and his father would hold shortly. The rinjin were, year by year, losing their links to Rokugan and Rokugani culture. Increasing the influence of the Crane would increase his ability to bring in courtiers and artisans to, maybe, temper this hot court. Previous ones had been driven out, but if the Warlord’s wife commanded that they be left alone, they would be.
But if that wife earned her husband’s displeasure… Mushari shook his head. Seiho was not generally a patient or persistent man. His infatuations seemed to end quickly. He would tell the truth about Arahime’s status, but respond slowly. And maybe arrange things that would cause Seiho to lose interest in the girl until another Crane, a better match for the young man, could be brought in to capture his attention.
Maybe someone more…flexible. That would please him. In the meantime, a sparring match with Arahime might persuade him that he has no hopes of drawing her desire and no way of compelling her to his side. Perhaps that will convince him to lose interest for the moment so he will leave the poor girl alone.
The dojo was lit with bright lanterns, celebrating the coolness of the mid-summer evening. A number of flowers of the court were assembled to view the proceedings, but Kakita Arahime bore them no heed as she stepped onto the floor. Her eyes were only for her opponent.
Most young women would share her perspective; few would deny how handsome Arashi Seiho was. Dressed only in broad hakama of green and silver, his deeply tanned skin rippled across the muscles of his chest. He bowed to Arahime, a friendly smile on his face. “I am grateful, Arahime-san, that Mushari-san has given me this opportunity to see you once again. You have been so diligent in serving him that my greatest efforts to enjoy your company again have come to nothing. I only seek to please you.” He almost sounded sincere, but to Arahime’s ears every word was false.
Still…
For just a moment, she felt a flash of confusion. Maybe it really is just a difference in the cultures. Maybe he really didn’t understand what the play meant…what it means to take one who has been stripped down to nothing…and then take everything that is left. The significance of that to my clan. Maybe he is just doing this because he is a boy who finds me attractive. Maybe he cannot help himself.
In her memories, she remembered floating leaf-boats with Harun down the stream that trickled through the Academy grounds. They would launch them together from the low, red bridge, and as the boats floated away they would talk of all the adventures that awaited them. But despite Arahime’s ever-more-fantastical tales, Harun was always a part of them. Willing to be the hero. Willing to be the one who was rescued too. Never making her more or less than what she wanted to be.
“To test my skill against yours will please me.” Arahime kept her tone formal. In victory or in defeat, a bushi shows his worth in battle. Let him prove he is worthy of me.
Seiho smiled, walking over the weapon’s rack and picking up a pair of shinai. “I am certain in a contest of live steel, you would have me at a disadvantage, Arahime-san,” he offered in a self-deprecating tone. “But my grandfather would not permit serious contests of steel in a friendly bout, lest true harm accidentally befall such an honored guest.” A few of those watching the contest hid their smiles behind their fans; the weaknesses of the Kakita style were considered famous. After all, if they could not use iaijutsu…
Arahime silently accepted the shinai and returned Seiho’s bow before dropping into stance. All anxiety, All despair. All fear and loneliness and hope and regret. She fed them into the void as she watched her opponent evaluate her. Then, thought becomes action in the space between heartbeats. Her shinai whipped out in front of her, the tip tapping Seiho under the soft point of his chin. She held back, of course, so it did not harm him.
Dead.
His shinai tapped against her shoulder less than a second later -- a glancing blow, but one made with strength. They were both in motion now. He seeks to unbalance my defense… She whirled and brought the shinai in a slashing blow against the back of the unarmored swordhand with enough force to sting.
Unhanded….
Seiho kept coming, however, perhaps convinced that he was strong enough to withstand the disarming strike and the deathblow. He managed to get another strike on her arm. Perhaps in a more serious fight, his greater strength would have slowed her down and pushed her off balance to where she would be able to be knocked down. In a simple sparring match, she was still faster, but it was definitely time to finish this match. Nothing for it but to prove to Seiho that this is the end of the fight.
She exhaled and released, bringing all her focus through Seiho’s shinai itself, rather than the man holding it. The practice weapon shattered into splinters in his hands.
The Arashi was no longer smiling. He scowled and swung at her with the broken weapon, trying to rely on his strength to overwhelm her, but a crisp command from the sensei stopped him before he could finish the strike. In a pitched battle, it might continue, but not here. Not today.
Without saying a word to the Warlord’s grandson, Arahime took a step back and bowed. Her gray eyes watched him carefully. You were beaten by a woman. By a Crane. By your actions now will you show if you are worthy.
Seiho threw the broken shinai away in disgust and gave the Kakita duelist a cursory nod. “You were lucky, Arahime-san,” he pouted, “that we were fighting with such inferior weapons that mine shattered. I personally find a pair of kama in my hands far better foreplay. “
Unworthy. Even of my anger. “I defend my charge with my soul and my steel. That is enough.” Her voice remained calm and passive, despite his provocation.
Seiho paused, and then turned on his flashing white smile. “Well, defeat has its pleasures also. If I will not be claiming my victory over you, it is only right that you do the same to me. Claim your prize, gentle maiden of the Crane. I am yours.”
The courtiers tittered, and Arahime felt the familiar anger rise, but, remembering Mushari’s words, for the first time, let it go. “Leave me alone. I want nothing from you.”
She passed the shinai to one of the students of the dojo as she passed and walked out.
The scrollcase was of purest lavender jade. The letter was on paper of ivory white, and the seal was dusted with gold. Doji Mushari sighed. He was honor-bound to have the letter sent to his Clan Champion, Doji Ayumu. But… The ambassador unrolled the letter he was to pass along. He read past the usual pleasantries to the heart of it…
…and so, in light of the mutual respect between our Kingdom and the Crane, and in light of the growing affections between my grandson, Seiho, and Arahime, the daughter of your vassels in the Kakita family, Kyoumi and Kousuda, I request that a marriage be arranged to bring the grace and culture of the Empire closer to our hearts…and the heart of a daughter of the Crane may carry our sincerest good wishes to you and to the Emperor himself…
Mushari slid the letter back into his scrollcase. He had seen no hint of any such ‘affection’ between Seiho and Arahime; indeed, it seemed as though Seiho had started avoiding her after their sparring match much as he hoped they would. There was something…he had noticed that the others in the court quickly changed subjects when his yojimbo was raised, but the matter was difficult to pursue with her present so much of the time. This letter, undoubtedly, was the source of the rumors. The Warlord had decided to proceed. Well, he thought as he shook his head sadly. It is the duty of all to serve. We do what we must.
Summer Court, 1236 - Second City
During the long, hot nights of Summer Court, Arahime focused on one goal and one goal only: avoiding Seiho, the Warlord’s grandson. It was not expected that she remain in her armor throughout the days of the court; she wore it anyway. Mushari did not require a yojimbo’s presence for every single meeting or walk across the Palace grounds; she walked with him anyway, hand resting on her obi. The old diplomat accepted the close guardianship of his young yojimbo with gentle patience, even though she did not speak with him of her troubles. The duelist held his papers, carried his gifts, and set up the braziers he would use to make tea. During the hot middays, Mushari returned to the Crane embassy. Arahime was able to sleep, study, or play go with the pleasant old man. He enjoyed telling stories of the Colonies and the things he had learned since he arrived here, and invited her to read to him when his eyes pained him. Arahime came to appreciate the quiet.
After a long evening spent watching the Doji meet irascible Ota and hot-tempered Nobumoto with equal amounts of calm pleasantry and unrelenting determination, Arahime had to ask him how he did it. Mushari smiled gently and poured her a cup of cool, sweet water of the coconut, flavored with matcha.
“My parents were courtiers of the Doji. Famous. Honored. Very well versed in the arts of diplomacy from the beginning of my family line. But when I was born, during the peaceful reign of the Empress Iweko, I had a great difficulty. For the fortunes saw fit to laugh at my family’s excess by afflicting me,” he expressed his mild amusement, “with a stutter.”
Arahime blinked, having never heard the courtier speak less than flawlessly.
He smiled as he continued. “This, of course, earned me much mockery. But my father was a wise and kind man, and he taught me well. You know the five lessons of Lady Doji?”
Arahime nodded. All those trained in a Crane dojo are taught about the five lessons, though as a bushi she was not necessarily expected to practice them all.
Calligraphy: Your words are important and valuable. Once committed, they can never be taken back.
Ikebana: All things that are can be seen from many different perspectives and are transient. Significance depends on where the viewer stands at the moment it is viewed.
Painting: What you perceive is filtered and colored by your own moment and understanding; you must broaden your understanding to perceive what is timeless and essential.
Poetry: Words may have many meanings. One must look to the heart to know what is true.
Origami: To reach a desired end requires patience and the completion of many small steps done with excellence.
Mushari smiled. “It is good the lessons have not been lost, even when so much else has. My father was determined and persistent. Every day he worked with me to improve my speech. It took many years. I suppose it is a benefit that, shielded from the world as we were for many of the dark years of the war, I benefited greatly from the time I was able to practice. However, I will never forget the jeers of my classmates, many of whom came from even greater families than mine. My father told me that those who taunted me were unworthy of my anger. That it is not our lineage or skill that gives us value. It is our deeds that prove our worth. It helps me remember that, each day, I get to choose my own worth. I could prove worthy of my father’s patience and my family heritage. Or I could choose to be unworthy, such as the ones who taunted me, and let their taunts drag me to their level. I choose to rise above. The actions of those who diminish us make them small. They are not worth my anger. Instead I choose to give them the opportunity to rise.” He sipped his drink. “Sometimes they do.”
Doji Mushari sadly watched his yojimbo go back to her own room for some sleep. She was courteous, intelligent, sensitive. A pleasure to talk with. Maybe a little tempestuous, but that is a luxury for the young. Though he’d not yet been able to see her in combat, he had watched her in her daily kata and did not doubt her focus and lethality. It was ill fortune, and the popularity of that cursed play, that put her in Arashi Seiho’s sights, and the man was a bore. From the gifts, like the stone spheres he’d sent on the first day of summer court, to the petitions for her time, to the endless ‘accidental’ run-ins, the young man refused to accept Arahime’s rejection of him. Jealousy and the current state of the Crane won her no friends among the cad’s peers. The courtier could not blame the young woman for sticking close, though Mushari privately wished, for her sake, she’d been able to make at least one friend. She seemed so lonely and unhappy. It was not a life he would choose for her.
But it might be one the Fortunes would see fit to choose. The older courtier pulled from his sleeve the letter he had received that morning. It was written with friendship and in informal style, frangipani and the scent of vanilla and warm cream paper. But the hand that wrote the calligraphy was well known to him. The Warlord Arashi’s oldest, and most faithful, advisor, Tenmei Nasuko. It was a simple inquiry: had any arrangements been made in Rokugan for the hand of the lovely Kakita Arahime? With those words, Mushari knew the Warlord had noticed his grandson’s interest in the young Crane and thought to temper the young man’s churlish ways with Crane discipline and courtesy. Whether the Crane in question wants it or not.
Mushari sighed. The match was not a bad one. Seiho was likely to inherit the position his grandfather held, and his father would hold shortly. The rinjin were, year by year, losing their links to Rokugan and Rokugani culture. Increasing the influence of the Crane would increase his ability to bring in courtiers and artisans to, maybe, temper this hot court. Previous ones had been driven out, but if the Warlord’s wife commanded that they be left alone, they would be.
But if that wife earned her husband’s displeasure… Mushari shook his head. Seiho was not generally a patient or persistent man. His infatuations seemed to end quickly. He would tell the truth about Arahime’s status, but respond slowly. And maybe arrange things that would cause Seiho to lose interest in the girl until another Crane, a better match for the young man, could be brought in to capture his attention.
Maybe someone more…flexible. That would please him. In the meantime, a sparring match with Arahime might persuade him that he has no hopes of drawing her desire and no way of compelling her to his side. Perhaps that will convince him to lose interest for the moment so he will leave the poor girl alone.
The dojo was lit with bright lanterns, celebrating the coolness of the mid-summer evening. A number of flowers of the court were assembled to view the proceedings, but Kakita Arahime bore them no heed as she stepped onto the floor. Her eyes were only for her opponent.
Most young women would share her perspective; few would deny how handsome Arashi Seiho was. Dressed only in broad hakama of green and silver, his deeply tanned skin rippled across the muscles of his chest. He bowed to Arahime, a friendly smile on his face. “I am grateful, Arahime-san, that Mushari-san has given me this opportunity to see you once again. You have been so diligent in serving him that my greatest efforts to enjoy your company again have come to nothing. I only seek to please you.” He almost sounded sincere, but to Arahime’s ears every word was false.
Still…
For just a moment, she felt a flash of confusion. Maybe it really is just a difference in the cultures. Maybe he really didn’t understand what the play meant…what it means to take one who has been stripped down to nothing…and then take everything that is left. The significance of that to my clan. Maybe he is just doing this because he is a boy who finds me attractive. Maybe he cannot help himself.
In her memories, she remembered floating leaf-boats with Harun down the stream that trickled through the Academy grounds. They would launch them together from the low, red bridge, and as the boats floated away they would talk of all the adventures that awaited them. But despite Arahime’s ever-more-fantastical tales, Harun was always a part of them. Willing to be the hero. Willing to be the one who was rescued too. Never making her more or less than what she wanted to be.
“To test my skill against yours will please me.” Arahime kept her tone formal. In victory or in defeat, a bushi shows his worth in battle. Let him prove he is worthy of me.
Seiho smiled, walking over the weapon’s rack and picking up a pair of shinai. “I am certain in a contest of live steel, you would have me at a disadvantage, Arahime-san,” he offered in a self-deprecating tone. “But my grandfather would not permit serious contests of steel in a friendly bout, lest true harm accidentally befall such an honored guest.” A few of those watching the contest hid their smiles behind their fans; the weaknesses of the Kakita style were considered famous. After all, if they could not use iaijutsu…
Arahime silently accepted the shinai and returned Seiho’s bow before dropping into stance. All anxiety, All despair. All fear and loneliness and hope and regret. She fed them into the void as she watched her opponent evaluate her. Then, thought becomes action in the space between heartbeats. Her shinai whipped out in front of her, the tip tapping Seiho under the soft point of his chin. She held back, of course, so it did not harm him.
Dead.
His shinai tapped against her shoulder less than a second later -- a glancing blow, but one made with strength. They were both in motion now. He seeks to unbalance my defense… She whirled and brought the shinai in a slashing blow against the back of the unarmored swordhand with enough force to sting.
Unhanded….
Seiho kept coming, however, perhaps convinced that he was strong enough to withstand the disarming strike and the deathblow. He managed to get another strike on her arm. Perhaps in a more serious fight, his greater strength would have slowed her down and pushed her off balance to where she would be able to be knocked down. In a simple sparring match, she was still faster, but it was definitely time to finish this match. Nothing for it but to prove to Seiho that this is the end of the fight.
She exhaled and released, bringing all her focus through Seiho’s shinai itself, rather than the man holding it. The practice weapon shattered into splinters in his hands.
The Arashi was no longer smiling. He scowled and swung at her with the broken weapon, trying to rely on his strength to overwhelm her, but a crisp command from the sensei stopped him before he could finish the strike. In a pitched battle, it might continue, but not here. Not today.
Without saying a word to the Warlord’s grandson, Arahime took a step back and bowed. Her gray eyes watched him carefully. You were beaten by a woman. By a Crane. By your actions now will you show if you are worthy.
Seiho threw the broken shinai away in disgust and gave the Kakita duelist a cursory nod. “You were lucky, Arahime-san,” he pouted, “that we were fighting with such inferior weapons that mine shattered. I personally find a pair of kama in my hands far better foreplay. “
Unworthy. Even of my anger. “I defend my charge with my soul and my steel. That is enough.” Her voice remained calm and passive, despite his provocation.
Seiho paused, and then turned on his flashing white smile. “Well, defeat has its pleasures also. If I will not be claiming my victory over you, it is only right that you do the same to me. Claim your prize, gentle maiden of the Crane. I am yours.”
The courtiers tittered, and Arahime felt the familiar anger rise, but, remembering Mushari’s words, for the first time, let it go. “Leave me alone. I want nothing from you.”
She passed the shinai to one of the students of the dojo as she passed and walked out.
The scrollcase was of purest lavender jade. The letter was on paper of ivory white, and the seal was dusted with gold. Doji Mushari sighed. He was honor-bound to have the letter sent to his Clan Champion, Doji Ayumu. But… The ambassador unrolled the letter he was to pass along. He read past the usual pleasantries to the heart of it…
…and so, in light of the mutual respect between our Kingdom and the Crane, and in light of the growing affections between my grandson, Seiho, and Arahime, the daughter of your vassels in the Kakita family, Kyoumi and Kousuda, I request that a marriage be arranged to bring the grace and culture of the Empire closer to our hearts…and the heart of a daughter of the Crane may carry our sincerest good wishes to you and to the Emperor himself…
Mushari slid the letter back into his scrollcase. He had seen no hint of any such ‘affection’ between Seiho and Arahime; indeed, it seemed as though Seiho had started avoiding her after their sparring match much as he hoped they would. There was something…he had noticed that the others in the court quickly changed subjects when his yojimbo was raised, but the matter was difficult to pursue with her present so much of the time. This letter, undoubtedly, was the source of the rumors. The Warlord had decided to proceed. Well, he thought as he shook his head sadly. It is the duty of all to serve. We do what we must.