Reflections of Honor
by Doji Aiogawa, Doji Hyuu, Doji Jubei, Kakita Koi, Kakita Kaori, Shosho, and Otaku Tamakura, with help from Daidoji Iriku, Daidoji Karasu (the other one), Daidoji Nakamura, Daidoji Taishi, Kakita Mokoto, and Kakita Itsukage. Edited by Kakita Kaori July 1999
These events took place after Origins '99 and after the release Honor Bound, but before the events of Gencon '99. The events of this story are considered to have occurred during the Honor Bound story arc, just following the event described in the flavor text of 'Slaughter of the Imperial Court' and before the event described in the flavor text of 'Torn from the Past'.
This work is a compilation of the efforts of many Crane Players to express the underlying unity of the Clan, formed in honor and in pain, and the profound effects the Civil War has had on the Clan. The ending was also voted on by all the members of the Crane List Servers and Bulletin Boards, electing to appeal to the Asahina and our courtly, peaceful ways rather than granting either Doji or Daidoji victory in this matter. We believe that, in a Civil War, neither side wins.
Age had twisted the fingers that held the precious stone like the trunk of one of the Master Gardener's bonsai. Yet they held the block of warm jade firmly, and the first strike of the chisel did not shake. One strike. On the first blow, the ancient artisan whispered his prayer, "Lady Doji, guide these weary hands. Show me the spirit of the jade." Chips of blue began to fall.
Kaori plunged her hands into the cold water that had accumulated in her kabuto over night, and used the rain water to scrub her face vigorously. She shook the water droplets free and then took the helm from her brother so that he could wash his face. Toshiki smiled tiredly at her before scrubbing his own. As he lifted his head, the samurai-ko sighed.
"Do you think we will hear news today, Ani-ko?"
Toshiki shook his head, "I don't know, Kaori. Although I've painted most of Ryosei-sama's screens now, they are still unsure about my presence and say nothing around me."
Kaori began rigorously brushing out her long, white hair with a small comb. Although her hair was dirty after nights of sleeping in the rain, she still managed to brush it into something of a shine. "I hope... I had hoped to hear of the war. That it had ended. That our ancestors had taken pity on our poor divided hearts..."
Toshiki reached out to touch the samurai-ko's arm reassuringly. "They will. It will be all right. Our daimyo will find a path that Kuwanan-sama and Uji-sama can take and still follow the needs of their honor and destiny. I know it." He smiled warmly, not letting his sister see the worry in his gray eyes.
Kaori returned the smile with a hesitant one of her own, "You think so?”
Toshiki nodded, "I know so."
Kaori carefully put the comb into her nearly empty travel bag. "Then, I suppose we must be patient, and pray."
Toshi twisted his long hair into its customary top knot as he said, "We both shall be praying, Sister. We all are."
The flakes of jade fell like rain, littering the ground at the artisan's feet, but it would be a long time before any shape could be discerned in the stone. The sound of the chisel rang against the stone, like the clash of steel on steel.
Doji Aiogawa proceeded up the hall, his yojimbo, Ihashichi, trailing behind. He had come to seek the aid of Kakita Yoshi in finding a peaceful solution to the civil war. He went over his plea in his head, "Surely, the clan that has negotiated peace for the rest of the Empire for centuries can find peace for itself."
As he proceeded to open the doors to the great hall, he heard a commotion to the side. The next seconds were a blur as Ihashichi grabbed him up and shoved him through a side door. Aiogawa was hustled down the back halls and servants wings of the palace. All he could stammer was, "Ihashichi, what has happened?" The only reply he received from his yojimbo was, "Yoshi-sama can help our clan no longer. We must get you out of the palace and away from this city, Aiogawa-san."
He did not see, but it was said that night the stones of Otosan Uchi wept tears of blood.
Beneath the artisan's guiding hand, stone was ground and broken, piece by piece, leaving a slender core. The wheel whispered from its corner in the patch of shade, and listless farmers lifted their heads to look. Above, the rage of Amaterasu blazed, turning the streets to dust, and each farmer prayed for gentle rains. The Fortune of Famine howled in victory. The lands burned.
Daidoji Iriku watched Lady Amaterasu brighten the lands to the east with fire. Crane lands. Home. The watchtower over the Bayushi provinces showed the shadows being driven further and further to the west with each passing minute, but those bright rays did nothing to drive out the shadows in his heart. Since the Mantis had turned northwards, his men had seen no battle, but was this the day that that would change?
"Iriku-sama?" the bushi bowed to his general, hiding his eyes. Iriku could see in his stance his concern, "There is a messenger from Lord Uji-sama."
The general nodded curtly, "I saw him ride. Send him to me."
The bushi bowed again and left the narrow room. Iriku turned back towards the window. Though his face was carved of flint, his heart ached. “Do not ask this of me, my Lord. Kuwanan is our champion, the Doji are my brothers. Do not make me turn my sword on my brothers, I beg you.” Would that Uji-sama could hear the prayers spoken in silence in the hearts of his men, for no trace of the sorrow marred the Daidoji general's features as he turned towards the sound of sandals on the steps below.
Wordlessly, the messenger held out the scroll, marked with crane, serpent, and spear. Wordlessly, the general opened it. And silent prayers went unanswered.
In silence, he worked, finding the spirit of the stone. It was there; the curve of a cheek, the folds of a kimono. A woman's slender body, remembered after many years alone. The artisan gave a toothless smile. He would not forget. Beneath his hands, the chisel cut away pieces of finest blue jade like brush strokes.
Doji Hyuu knelt on the rice-mat floor, the fine blue beads of his meditation mat beginning to fray at the edges. The imperfection nagged at him, making it difficult to focus. He stared silently at the paper before him, waiting for an answer to come.
Outside, he could hear his yojimbo shifting restlessly. The marshy rice fields seemed not so much tranquil as precarious, like a thin veil of oil on the surface of water soon to erupt during a tsunami. “The Empire is not at peace. How can one man be so?” Inwardly snarling, he chased doubt from his mind like a hunter driving hounds, and resumed his concentration. Words formed and his brush reached for the paper...
"Yoshi-sama..." The brush paused. No. His sensei was either dead, or something worse. He had seen the court of Otosan Uchi, fancied he smelled the charnel pit it had become, felt the darkness in the Emperor's soul, heard Kage's warning chill through his spine. Sometimes, a man cannot turn to a sensei. He lifted the brush. His yojimbo shifted, forever honing her precious stance. A crane cocked its head on the marsh. The waves washed on distant beaches.
"Uji-sama..." Again, the pause. No. Hyuu had never met the Daidoji daimyo, but he doubted him to be a man of words. The enemy you do not fear, so Uji claimed, is the enemy who can defeat you. And Uji feared the ways of courtiers. Let the Daidoji have his blades. The reeds rustled and the beads on the mat clicked against one another.
"Kuwanan-sama..." Yes. The Daimyo of the Crane. Kuwanan-sama. The words sounded like a prayer... not a supplication, a scream to the heavens, a demand to the Fortunes. Kuwanan-sama. You would have my loyalty... the letter began to form. Silently, Hyuu touched brush to paper, his sensei's words ringing in his head, ‘Take time. You young ones always rush, neh? Always moving closer to some final goal... that is not the way of the Crane. Pause, and let the world come to you, for if it will not, it never should do so.'
And now his sensei lay cold, denied an honorable death in the slaughter-pit of Otosan Uchi.
He once more saw Yoshi's face as it came to him in a dream. Lying on his side, blood pooling, mixing with white hair and blue kimono. Surprised. When Yoshi was his sensei, the man had been as Kakita himself, unflinching, unmoving, bowing and bending to the fluctuations of the world as if they were all preordained by his hand. And yet... the look on the daimyo's face as it lay there was of shock. Yoshi fell to the only thing that had ever surprised him.
The brush moved, almost of its own accord. "The evil we face is not of god, but of man. And one man can undo what another has done."
Jade fell like water in the cascading hair that flowed about the shoulders of the figure that was developing under the artisan's fingers. Each tiny chip revealed the form, forming each lock. A face formed from nothingness, beauty in the crudeness of stone.
The Daidoji snarled at his tiny campfire, pulling a twig from his hair and throwing it on to the blaze. Across the fire from him, the body of the fallen man lay where it had been struck down several hours before. It had been so simple: straight up gold to take down a ronin that needed to be removed. The bounty was good, and he couldn't question the rightness of the commission. After all, the order had come straight from Uji-sama himself, and who cared about one ronin, anyway? The man had fled dishonorably, but there were few runaways who could outrun the bow of Karasu. It was when he'd gone to check for papers that he saw the blue kimono under the brown, and the Doji mon emblazoned on the ronin's shoulder. That introduced disturbing thoughts, enough that he'd been mulling them over the campfire for three hours. Finally, the bounty hunter shrugged. Uji-sama acted at the behest of his ancestors. He was daimyo, and those Doji were quick to boss the Daidoji around anyway. Still, he hoped that this was the last commission he got of this type. Catching ronin was one thing. Killing your brothers was another.
The pattern was set, the form had been chosen. The artisan paused for a moment to stretch his fingers. Age had put much pain in them, but he offered the pain to his ancestors for their guidance as he continued his work.
Nakamura stirred restlessly in his sleep, tossing and turning, his dreams troubled. Since Artikeo's death, he had followed the path of blood, so far, so long, but in his dreams his ancestors called him home. The Crane lands were far from him now, but he could hear from here the tears and the wailing. "Please, Hoturi-sama," the nightmare-trapped bushi muttered, "Show me how to protect them. How do I protect our clan now?"
A single, fine cut clove the jade, a pure, unblemished stroke, unerringly straight. Smaller strokes finished it, a blade within its saya. In one rough-hewn hand, the fluttering arc of the open fan. In the other, the sheathed sword. Though the edges were rough and the face seemed carved with a bare katana, already, the woman's sad eyes seemed haunted, near tears. The artisan laid down the chisel, applied water and sand to his wheel, and it began to turn.
The sword screamed. The sword cried out, railing against its destiny. Even in his dreams, Daidoji Taishi could hear it, protesting against the blood it had spilled. Shizukesa, he had been told, was its name. He had been granted it at the hands of the Emerald Champion, so many years ago. Crafted by the Kakita Artisans, born out of fire and sweat, not one drop of blood clung to its perfect surface. But he could hear it cry out against the taste of the blood it had drunk. The warrior sagged against the side of his steed, who fretfully pranced back a step. The battlefield, the blood, he could not forget.
When he had been given the blade, he had taken oaths that it would be used to defend his honor, his family, his daimyo, his clan, his Empire, all the days of his life. Today, it had drawn Crane blood at the behest of his Lord. Today, it had killed his cousins. Today, the new Emerald Champion had slaughtered the voices that had once sought peace, had slain leaders of his family and clan. Today, his daimyo ordered war on that which they had sworn to protect. He had ridden with the first attack of the cavalry of the Daidoji against the Doji, and the blood of two families was reunited as it watered the fields. The sword screamed, but it had no voice, so his own howled across the bloody plain in its rage and anger at being so used.
The rough jade shrieked as it was first laid against the stone, but as it grew smoother with the application of fine sand and water, the sound became a hum of stone against stone. The artisan's aged hands turned the figure he was forming, each turn of the wheel revealing a new reflection, a new shine.
Anger darkened the stormy eyes of Kakita Mokoto as he listened to the heinin's stories. He had been gone, travelling deep in the Shinomen Forests, and he returned to find hostilities exploded into open war.
"What? Is that all the news you have?" he asked sharply, his anger causing the words to crack like thunder.
The heinin cowered, though the duelist had made no move against him. "No, my lord. There is more. The great Kakita Yoshi-sama is dead, we have heard. The Imperial Court has been killed at the orders of the glorious Emperor!"
Mokoto's hand tightened on the hilt of his katana, causing the heinin to press his face to the dust in terror. Makoto shook his head. "Don't fear. It is not against you that my anger burns. It is against ourselves. We disgrace our ancestors to fight among ourselves this way. Especially at a time such as this."
He mounted his horse again, his body a tightly coiled spring. "No, I know what enemy is to blame for this. After so much evil, this would not be beyond them. Kolat."
The artisan's foot powered the wheel, and he poured water over it, as it turned, with a copper ladle. Here and there, villagers lifted their heads to see him, and whispered among themselves about his creation. No one had seen the old man craft jade for fifteen years. But they did not have long to idly watch. They had duties to perform.
"All Imperial Magistrates are to rendezvous at Otosan Uchi in three days. - Seppun Toshiken". Doji Jubei frowned and threw the parchment into the fire. After what had happened, the Emerald Champion still expected him to come? He had seen the slaughter of the Imperial Court, powerless to stop it. He had watched helplessly as his fellow clansmen died before him. Disgusted and horrified, he had left, ignoring the calls of the Emerald Champion, the orders of Emperor Toturi. What was this betrayal to that? If the Emperor could betray his people so, how can he expect loyalty from his magistrates? The samurai's face hardened in resolve as he watched the crisp parchment blacken into ash. No longer would he be an Emerald Magistrate, no longer would he betray the clan that needed him. The parchment fell into glowing ash under his eyes. Suddenly, Doji Jubei looked up, feeling the uncanny presence of someone, or something, looking at him through the walls. He shook his head to clear it. Behind his eyes he could still sense it, though, that darkness.....
The wheel spun on, a dancing song, and a number of the village children assembled to watch the strange old man finish his work. One laughed and pointed at some little thing, and in the brightness of their smiles, it was almost possible to ignore the sunken cheeks and too-dark eyes. The wheel continued to spin.
As she slid the panel shut, Asahina Eiko sagged against the frame with a sigh. "At least that is over," she murmured. The ronin who departed moments before was a definite sign of trouble in the coming days. The uncouth mercenary explained that he had offers from both the Doji and the Daidoji, and was seeking the thoughts of the Kakita and Asahina before making a decision. Though the Daidoji had in the past taken such steps, the Doji should have known better than to invite such trouble. If even a single ronin were hired by either side, the conflict would surely grow to involve the other clans -- not all of whom wanted to see the Crane remain standing. She thanked the Fortunes that she had convinced the ronin to keep his retinue out of the conflict and swear not to support either side. This must remain strictly a Crane affair. She would speak to Tamako-sama, and make sure that any other ronin were intercepted. She straightened, rearranging her white robes and carefully putting her hair into place. Now, she had to see to mending the damage in the temple caused by the mujina he brought...
The children left, finally growing bored with the artisan's patient spinning of the wheel. There was no one left to see as he plunged the gleaming figure into water, to see the sadness in those blue, blue eyes.
The burakumin squinted at the piece of parchment, drenched in blood, from its place on the battlefield. The clean, crisp kanji were blotted with the blood of the young man that lay, unmoving on the scorched earth. Unable to read, he tucked the words into his shirt, to be laid with the body of this boy in Doji colors with the rest of Kuwanan's fallen. The burakumin wondered tiredly what the letters read as he picked up the body of the boy. The Doji would not say.
“Dearest Brother Masasue,
It was with the greatest sadness that I read your missive. I can't say that I feel comfortable advising you in this matter, your elder though I may be. Though I know that you likely wish to follow father in his joining of Uji-sama, I urge that you stay with mother. Though she was, from my younger memories, quite the bold samurai-ko, I worry that the intervening years will bode ill for her as she takes arms to join Kuwanan-sama. I ask that you watch out for her. As for our lands, do not doubt that mother will leave them in competent hands no matter how deep in sorrow she falls. Her firmest devotion to duty for the living would brook no less from her.
For myself, though I yearn to return home, I believe that I cannot, at this time, be involved. My clan-by-marriage is also torn by strife, and we also face external war. The sister of my wife was one of those who died when Toturi-sama ordered the attack upon the Lion. My wife screams in her nightmares, swearing that she can see her sister being torn limb-from-limb by the foul spawn summoned by the so-called Jade Champion.
In my heart of hearts, I yearn to join Uji-sama with father. As is said, "I have borrowed my name from my ancestors. I must return it to them untarnished." Some would say this requires Uji-sama to obey Kuwanan-sama. I say that, without our ancestor's deeds, we would not be Crane, because there would be no Crane! And yet, my duties as a magistrate have even kept me from joining the Unicorn's attack upon the dark-hearted Lion, much less Uji-sama's. I cannot leave my duties in my new clan, even if many of the interests of the Unicorn and Crane coincide.
I pray to the Fortunes that all shall be well. I yearn for the peace which Toturi-sama promised us. And, most of all, I dread the winter my heart shall enter if mother and father meet on the field of battle. Keep her safe, Masa-cho. Do you remember that name? It is what I called you when we were boys, to tease you. Do you remember those days? Quiet, summer days, back when a Hantei still sat the throne? Days when we would play in the field, watched over by mother, or father. Or both. Days which I fear will never come to any children we might have.
May the Fortunes keep you,
Tamakura”
Again the ancient artisan picked up his chisel, his fingers feeling the smooth curves and graceful lines of the figure under his hands. A woman of blue, with eyes of infinite sadness. He took the chisel and laid it against the base. One strike.
The sound of chanting filled the empty corridors of Kyuden Doji, louder than the sound of Itsukage's footsteps over the reed mats. It seemed these days the chanting never ceased, but in a way, he was grateful. Were it not for the prayers of the women and old men, the palace of the Doji would sound deserted, and he saw too few of his fellows on his endless patrols of the palace and grounds. It was not long ago when this palace was filled with plans and battles, young men from across the lands of the Crane each boasting his glory and swearing his life to the daimyo. Now, the young men were gone, and he was left with a token force to defend the palace. The kenshinzen paused. At the shrine, the women raised their prayer that the Fortunes would take pity on their poor, war-torn lands in loud chanting and wailing. Itsukage shook his head slowly and added a whispered prayer of his own. "Fukurokujin, Hotei, Bishamon, Ebisu. I do not know who will return to these halls. Be it Kuwanan-sama or Uji-sama, please bring them home soon."
It did not take much to finish the kanji at her feet, a few simple strokes, each struck individually to mark the plea of one word, "Peace". The stars were full in the sky as the artisan laid down his tools, dipping the figure again in cold water to wash the dust away, and then in oil to finish it.
Another day without music, another night without rest. Kakita Koi pulled his diary out from underneath his futon, while outside the dizzying songs of the magpies greeted the day ebulliently. He closed his eyes, hoping that their music would seep into him, inspire him, but there was nothing. With a sigh, he started to grind the inkstone to write, but his eyes turned of their own accord to the last entry of the book. The date had not been marked.
"Right now it is morning in Kobayashi Mansion, and Amaterasu herself is just starting to peek out from the horizon of the calm sea. The day is starting out cool and tranquil, but the excited and ceaseless twitter of magpies out in the willow garden hint at a turbulent unrest beneath the surface.
"I am gravely worried about what is happening to our clan. There are still many rumors circling about why house Doji and Daidoji are warring with each other, but regardless, I fear that this is a terrible sign of worse to come.
"With the disappearance of Emperor Toturi, the Imperial and Provincial courts are dangerously bordering a state of upheaval. Daimyo Yoshi-sama, knowing how precarious the situation is had cleverly devised a way to conveniently move most of us, the courtiers and the artisans, out of the courts temporarily. Several weeks ago Yoshi appealed for a national program to reinforce and further spread culture and the arts in Rokugan through travelling groups of Crane artisans. It barely passed. And thank goodness, it did.
"When will this madness end? I am so troubled with these events that I am plagued with insomnia. Even my writing is suffering. I haven't written anything decent in weeks! My koto sits uncovered, and yet also untouched. I pray to our ancestors that somehow, things will work out in the end."
His daimyo had somehow known, had somehow saved his life. And now the lands burned with war. The musician laid down his brush. This day, as it had been the day before and the day before that, there was nothing left to say.
The artisan laid down his tools, and bowed before the work he had created. "Lady Doji, please carry my prayer. Carry the prayers of all our hearts," he said in a whisper.
"A package has arrived for you, my Lord," The young woman knelt before him, extending the gift on a tray. Its wrappings were simple white, and the daimyo nodded and took the gift thoughtfully.
"Who is it from?" he asked, running his fingers across the skillfully folded paper tied with red string.
"It was sent by one of the artisans, my Lord. He retired many years ago, and none have seen his work since that time. He sent the message with it." The woman again bowed.
The daimyo nodded, and opened the package. Within, a perfect statue of blue jade, a woman with haunted eyes and a compassionate expression. In one hand she held a sheathed sword, in the other a fan, and at her feet, the single, perfect kanji: Peace. The daimyo opened the letter.
Tamako-Sama,
I write this on behalf of the people of this village, who are starving. I write this on behalf the samurai of this land, whose hearts are wrenched with the sorrow of fighting their own clan. I write you in the memory of Kakita Yoshi-sama and with the tears of the Lady Doji in my heart. Please intercede for us. Please act to stop this war. I know that, were the Asahina to enter the field of battle, without spell or weapons, and stood between the armies of Kuwanan-sama and Uji-sama, no samurai of the Crane would betray their ancestors and their honor to strike them down. The Crane have always clung to honor, and many would request Seppuku than raise weapons against the unarmed Asahina. If Uji-sama and Kuwanan-sama see what their men would do rather than fight, surely the course of honor would be revealed to them. In my heart, I mourn the risk, but it is the only way I can see to end this suffering. Please, I implore you, consider these words, and the suffering of your people. Surely Lady Doji weeps.
An Artisan of your People.
These events took place after Origins '99 and after the release Honor Bound, but before the events of Gencon '99. The events of this story are considered to have occurred during the Honor Bound story arc, just following the event described in the flavor text of 'Slaughter of the Imperial Court' and before the event described in the flavor text of 'Torn from the Past'.
This work is a compilation of the efforts of many Crane Players to express the underlying unity of the Clan, formed in honor and in pain, and the profound effects the Civil War has had on the Clan. The ending was also voted on by all the members of the Crane List Servers and Bulletin Boards, electing to appeal to the Asahina and our courtly, peaceful ways rather than granting either Doji or Daidoji victory in this matter. We believe that, in a Civil War, neither side wins.
Age had twisted the fingers that held the precious stone like the trunk of one of the Master Gardener's bonsai. Yet they held the block of warm jade firmly, and the first strike of the chisel did not shake. One strike. On the first blow, the ancient artisan whispered his prayer, "Lady Doji, guide these weary hands. Show me the spirit of the jade." Chips of blue began to fall.
Kaori plunged her hands into the cold water that had accumulated in her kabuto over night, and used the rain water to scrub her face vigorously. She shook the water droplets free and then took the helm from her brother so that he could wash his face. Toshiki smiled tiredly at her before scrubbing his own. As he lifted his head, the samurai-ko sighed.
"Do you think we will hear news today, Ani-ko?"
Toshiki shook his head, "I don't know, Kaori. Although I've painted most of Ryosei-sama's screens now, they are still unsure about my presence and say nothing around me."
Kaori began rigorously brushing out her long, white hair with a small comb. Although her hair was dirty after nights of sleeping in the rain, she still managed to brush it into something of a shine. "I hope... I had hoped to hear of the war. That it had ended. That our ancestors had taken pity on our poor divided hearts..."
Toshiki reached out to touch the samurai-ko's arm reassuringly. "They will. It will be all right. Our daimyo will find a path that Kuwanan-sama and Uji-sama can take and still follow the needs of their honor and destiny. I know it." He smiled warmly, not letting his sister see the worry in his gray eyes.
Kaori returned the smile with a hesitant one of her own, "You think so?”
Toshiki nodded, "I know so."
Kaori carefully put the comb into her nearly empty travel bag. "Then, I suppose we must be patient, and pray."
Toshi twisted his long hair into its customary top knot as he said, "We both shall be praying, Sister. We all are."
The flakes of jade fell like rain, littering the ground at the artisan's feet, but it would be a long time before any shape could be discerned in the stone. The sound of the chisel rang against the stone, like the clash of steel on steel.
Doji Aiogawa proceeded up the hall, his yojimbo, Ihashichi, trailing behind. He had come to seek the aid of Kakita Yoshi in finding a peaceful solution to the civil war. He went over his plea in his head, "Surely, the clan that has negotiated peace for the rest of the Empire for centuries can find peace for itself."
As he proceeded to open the doors to the great hall, he heard a commotion to the side. The next seconds were a blur as Ihashichi grabbed him up and shoved him through a side door. Aiogawa was hustled down the back halls and servants wings of the palace. All he could stammer was, "Ihashichi, what has happened?" The only reply he received from his yojimbo was, "Yoshi-sama can help our clan no longer. We must get you out of the palace and away from this city, Aiogawa-san."
He did not see, but it was said that night the stones of Otosan Uchi wept tears of blood.
Beneath the artisan's guiding hand, stone was ground and broken, piece by piece, leaving a slender core. The wheel whispered from its corner in the patch of shade, and listless farmers lifted their heads to look. Above, the rage of Amaterasu blazed, turning the streets to dust, and each farmer prayed for gentle rains. The Fortune of Famine howled in victory. The lands burned.
Daidoji Iriku watched Lady Amaterasu brighten the lands to the east with fire. Crane lands. Home. The watchtower over the Bayushi provinces showed the shadows being driven further and further to the west with each passing minute, but those bright rays did nothing to drive out the shadows in his heart. Since the Mantis had turned northwards, his men had seen no battle, but was this the day that that would change?
"Iriku-sama?" the bushi bowed to his general, hiding his eyes. Iriku could see in his stance his concern, "There is a messenger from Lord Uji-sama."
The general nodded curtly, "I saw him ride. Send him to me."
The bushi bowed again and left the narrow room. Iriku turned back towards the window. Though his face was carved of flint, his heart ached. “Do not ask this of me, my Lord. Kuwanan is our champion, the Doji are my brothers. Do not make me turn my sword on my brothers, I beg you.” Would that Uji-sama could hear the prayers spoken in silence in the hearts of his men, for no trace of the sorrow marred the Daidoji general's features as he turned towards the sound of sandals on the steps below.
Wordlessly, the messenger held out the scroll, marked with crane, serpent, and spear. Wordlessly, the general opened it. And silent prayers went unanswered.
In silence, he worked, finding the spirit of the stone. It was there; the curve of a cheek, the folds of a kimono. A woman's slender body, remembered after many years alone. The artisan gave a toothless smile. He would not forget. Beneath his hands, the chisel cut away pieces of finest blue jade like brush strokes.
Doji Hyuu knelt on the rice-mat floor, the fine blue beads of his meditation mat beginning to fray at the edges. The imperfection nagged at him, making it difficult to focus. He stared silently at the paper before him, waiting for an answer to come.
Outside, he could hear his yojimbo shifting restlessly. The marshy rice fields seemed not so much tranquil as precarious, like a thin veil of oil on the surface of water soon to erupt during a tsunami. “The Empire is not at peace. How can one man be so?” Inwardly snarling, he chased doubt from his mind like a hunter driving hounds, and resumed his concentration. Words formed and his brush reached for the paper...
"Yoshi-sama..." The brush paused. No. His sensei was either dead, or something worse. He had seen the court of Otosan Uchi, fancied he smelled the charnel pit it had become, felt the darkness in the Emperor's soul, heard Kage's warning chill through his spine. Sometimes, a man cannot turn to a sensei. He lifted the brush. His yojimbo shifted, forever honing her precious stance. A crane cocked its head on the marsh. The waves washed on distant beaches.
"Uji-sama..." Again, the pause. No. Hyuu had never met the Daidoji daimyo, but he doubted him to be a man of words. The enemy you do not fear, so Uji claimed, is the enemy who can defeat you. And Uji feared the ways of courtiers. Let the Daidoji have his blades. The reeds rustled and the beads on the mat clicked against one another.
"Kuwanan-sama..." Yes. The Daimyo of the Crane. Kuwanan-sama. The words sounded like a prayer... not a supplication, a scream to the heavens, a demand to the Fortunes. Kuwanan-sama. You would have my loyalty... the letter began to form. Silently, Hyuu touched brush to paper, his sensei's words ringing in his head, ‘Take time. You young ones always rush, neh? Always moving closer to some final goal... that is not the way of the Crane. Pause, and let the world come to you, for if it will not, it never should do so.'
And now his sensei lay cold, denied an honorable death in the slaughter-pit of Otosan Uchi.
He once more saw Yoshi's face as it came to him in a dream. Lying on his side, blood pooling, mixing with white hair and blue kimono. Surprised. When Yoshi was his sensei, the man had been as Kakita himself, unflinching, unmoving, bowing and bending to the fluctuations of the world as if they were all preordained by his hand. And yet... the look on the daimyo's face as it lay there was of shock. Yoshi fell to the only thing that had ever surprised him.
The brush moved, almost of its own accord. "The evil we face is not of god, but of man. And one man can undo what another has done."
Jade fell like water in the cascading hair that flowed about the shoulders of the figure that was developing under the artisan's fingers. Each tiny chip revealed the form, forming each lock. A face formed from nothingness, beauty in the crudeness of stone.
The Daidoji snarled at his tiny campfire, pulling a twig from his hair and throwing it on to the blaze. Across the fire from him, the body of the fallen man lay where it had been struck down several hours before. It had been so simple: straight up gold to take down a ronin that needed to be removed. The bounty was good, and he couldn't question the rightness of the commission. After all, the order had come straight from Uji-sama himself, and who cared about one ronin, anyway? The man had fled dishonorably, but there were few runaways who could outrun the bow of Karasu. It was when he'd gone to check for papers that he saw the blue kimono under the brown, and the Doji mon emblazoned on the ronin's shoulder. That introduced disturbing thoughts, enough that he'd been mulling them over the campfire for three hours. Finally, the bounty hunter shrugged. Uji-sama acted at the behest of his ancestors. He was daimyo, and those Doji were quick to boss the Daidoji around anyway. Still, he hoped that this was the last commission he got of this type. Catching ronin was one thing. Killing your brothers was another.
The pattern was set, the form had been chosen. The artisan paused for a moment to stretch his fingers. Age had put much pain in them, but he offered the pain to his ancestors for their guidance as he continued his work.
Nakamura stirred restlessly in his sleep, tossing and turning, his dreams troubled. Since Artikeo's death, he had followed the path of blood, so far, so long, but in his dreams his ancestors called him home. The Crane lands were far from him now, but he could hear from here the tears and the wailing. "Please, Hoturi-sama," the nightmare-trapped bushi muttered, "Show me how to protect them. How do I protect our clan now?"
A single, fine cut clove the jade, a pure, unblemished stroke, unerringly straight. Smaller strokes finished it, a blade within its saya. In one rough-hewn hand, the fluttering arc of the open fan. In the other, the sheathed sword. Though the edges were rough and the face seemed carved with a bare katana, already, the woman's sad eyes seemed haunted, near tears. The artisan laid down the chisel, applied water and sand to his wheel, and it began to turn.
The sword screamed. The sword cried out, railing against its destiny. Even in his dreams, Daidoji Taishi could hear it, protesting against the blood it had spilled. Shizukesa, he had been told, was its name. He had been granted it at the hands of the Emerald Champion, so many years ago. Crafted by the Kakita Artisans, born out of fire and sweat, not one drop of blood clung to its perfect surface. But he could hear it cry out against the taste of the blood it had drunk. The warrior sagged against the side of his steed, who fretfully pranced back a step. The battlefield, the blood, he could not forget.
When he had been given the blade, he had taken oaths that it would be used to defend his honor, his family, his daimyo, his clan, his Empire, all the days of his life. Today, it had drawn Crane blood at the behest of his Lord. Today, it had killed his cousins. Today, the new Emerald Champion had slaughtered the voices that had once sought peace, had slain leaders of his family and clan. Today, his daimyo ordered war on that which they had sworn to protect. He had ridden with the first attack of the cavalry of the Daidoji against the Doji, and the blood of two families was reunited as it watered the fields. The sword screamed, but it had no voice, so his own howled across the bloody plain in its rage and anger at being so used.
The rough jade shrieked as it was first laid against the stone, but as it grew smoother with the application of fine sand and water, the sound became a hum of stone against stone. The artisan's aged hands turned the figure he was forming, each turn of the wheel revealing a new reflection, a new shine.
Anger darkened the stormy eyes of Kakita Mokoto as he listened to the heinin's stories. He had been gone, travelling deep in the Shinomen Forests, and he returned to find hostilities exploded into open war.
"What? Is that all the news you have?" he asked sharply, his anger causing the words to crack like thunder.
The heinin cowered, though the duelist had made no move against him. "No, my lord. There is more. The great Kakita Yoshi-sama is dead, we have heard. The Imperial Court has been killed at the orders of the glorious Emperor!"
Mokoto's hand tightened on the hilt of his katana, causing the heinin to press his face to the dust in terror. Makoto shook his head. "Don't fear. It is not against you that my anger burns. It is against ourselves. We disgrace our ancestors to fight among ourselves this way. Especially at a time such as this."
He mounted his horse again, his body a tightly coiled spring. "No, I know what enemy is to blame for this. After so much evil, this would not be beyond them. Kolat."
The artisan's foot powered the wheel, and he poured water over it, as it turned, with a copper ladle. Here and there, villagers lifted their heads to see him, and whispered among themselves about his creation. No one had seen the old man craft jade for fifteen years. But they did not have long to idly watch. They had duties to perform.
"All Imperial Magistrates are to rendezvous at Otosan Uchi in three days. - Seppun Toshiken". Doji Jubei frowned and threw the parchment into the fire. After what had happened, the Emerald Champion still expected him to come? He had seen the slaughter of the Imperial Court, powerless to stop it. He had watched helplessly as his fellow clansmen died before him. Disgusted and horrified, he had left, ignoring the calls of the Emerald Champion, the orders of Emperor Toturi. What was this betrayal to that? If the Emperor could betray his people so, how can he expect loyalty from his magistrates? The samurai's face hardened in resolve as he watched the crisp parchment blacken into ash. No longer would he be an Emerald Magistrate, no longer would he betray the clan that needed him. The parchment fell into glowing ash under his eyes. Suddenly, Doji Jubei looked up, feeling the uncanny presence of someone, or something, looking at him through the walls. He shook his head to clear it. Behind his eyes he could still sense it, though, that darkness.....
The wheel spun on, a dancing song, and a number of the village children assembled to watch the strange old man finish his work. One laughed and pointed at some little thing, and in the brightness of their smiles, it was almost possible to ignore the sunken cheeks and too-dark eyes. The wheel continued to spin.
As she slid the panel shut, Asahina Eiko sagged against the frame with a sigh. "At least that is over," she murmured. The ronin who departed moments before was a definite sign of trouble in the coming days. The uncouth mercenary explained that he had offers from both the Doji and the Daidoji, and was seeking the thoughts of the Kakita and Asahina before making a decision. Though the Daidoji had in the past taken such steps, the Doji should have known better than to invite such trouble. If even a single ronin were hired by either side, the conflict would surely grow to involve the other clans -- not all of whom wanted to see the Crane remain standing. She thanked the Fortunes that she had convinced the ronin to keep his retinue out of the conflict and swear not to support either side. This must remain strictly a Crane affair. She would speak to Tamako-sama, and make sure that any other ronin were intercepted. She straightened, rearranging her white robes and carefully putting her hair into place. Now, she had to see to mending the damage in the temple caused by the mujina he brought...
The children left, finally growing bored with the artisan's patient spinning of the wheel. There was no one left to see as he plunged the gleaming figure into water, to see the sadness in those blue, blue eyes.
The burakumin squinted at the piece of parchment, drenched in blood, from its place on the battlefield. The clean, crisp kanji were blotted with the blood of the young man that lay, unmoving on the scorched earth. Unable to read, he tucked the words into his shirt, to be laid with the body of this boy in Doji colors with the rest of Kuwanan's fallen. The burakumin wondered tiredly what the letters read as he picked up the body of the boy. The Doji would not say.
“Dearest Brother Masasue,
It was with the greatest sadness that I read your missive. I can't say that I feel comfortable advising you in this matter, your elder though I may be. Though I know that you likely wish to follow father in his joining of Uji-sama, I urge that you stay with mother. Though she was, from my younger memories, quite the bold samurai-ko, I worry that the intervening years will bode ill for her as she takes arms to join Kuwanan-sama. I ask that you watch out for her. As for our lands, do not doubt that mother will leave them in competent hands no matter how deep in sorrow she falls. Her firmest devotion to duty for the living would brook no less from her.
For myself, though I yearn to return home, I believe that I cannot, at this time, be involved. My clan-by-marriage is also torn by strife, and we also face external war. The sister of my wife was one of those who died when Toturi-sama ordered the attack upon the Lion. My wife screams in her nightmares, swearing that she can see her sister being torn limb-from-limb by the foul spawn summoned by the so-called Jade Champion.
In my heart of hearts, I yearn to join Uji-sama with father. As is said, "I have borrowed my name from my ancestors. I must return it to them untarnished." Some would say this requires Uji-sama to obey Kuwanan-sama. I say that, without our ancestor's deeds, we would not be Crane, because there would be no Crane! And yet, my duties as a magistrate have even kept me from joining the Unicorn's attack upon the dark-hearted Lion, much less Uji-sama's. I cannot leave my duties in my new clan, even if many of the interests of the Unicorn and Crane coincide.
I pray to the Fortunes that all shall be well. I yearn for the peace which Toturi-sama promised us. And, most of all, I dread the winter my heart shall enter if mother and father meet on the field of battle. Keep her safe, Masa-cho. Do you remember that name? It is what I called you when we were boys, to tease you. Do you remember those days? Quiet, summer days, back when a Hantei still sat the throne? Days when we would play in the field, watched over by mother, or father. Or both. Days which I fear will never come to any children we might have.
May the Fortunes keep you,
Tamakura”
Again the ancient artisan picked up his chisel, his fingers feeling the smooth curves and graceful lines of the figure under his hands. A woman of blue, with eyes of infinite sadness. He took the chisel and laid it against the base. One strike.
The sound of chanting filled the empty corridors of Kyuden Doji, louder than the sound of Itsukage's footsteps over the reed mats. It seemed these days the chanting never ceased, but in a way, he was grateful. Were it not for the prayers of the women and old men, the palace of the Doji would sound deserted, and he saw too few of his fellows on his endless patrols of the palace and grounds. It was not long ago when this palace was filled with plans and battles, young men from across the lands of the Crane each boasting his glory and swearing his life to the daimyo. Now, the young men were gone, and he was left with a token force to defend the palace. The kenshinzen paused. At the shrine, the women raised their prayer that the Fortunes would take pity on their poor, war-torn lands in loud chanting and wailing. Itsukage shook his head slowly and added a whispered prayer of his own. "Fukurokujin, Hotei, Bishamon, Ebisu. I do not know who will return to these halls. Be it Kuwanan-sama or Uji-sama, please bring them home soon."
It did not take much to finish the kanji at her feet, a few simple strokes, each struck individually to mark the plea of one word, "Peace". The stars were full in the sky as the artisan laid down his tools, dipping the figure again in cold water to wash the dust away, and then in oil to finish it.
Another day without music, another night without rest. Kakita Koi pulled his diary out from underneath his futon, while outside the dizzying songs of the magpies greeted the day ebulliently. He closed his eyes, hoping that their music would seep into him, inspire him, but there was nothing. With a sigh, he started to grind the inkstone to write, but his eyes turned of their own accord to the last entry of the book. The date had not been marked.
"Right now it is morning in Kobayashi Mansion, and Amaterasu herself is just starting to peek out from the horizon of the calm sea. The day is starting out cool and tranquil, but the excited and ceaseless twitter of magpies out in the willow garden hint at a turbulent unrest beneath the surface.
"I am gravely worried about what is happening to our clan. There are still many rumors circling about why house Doji and Daidoji are warring with each other, but regardless, I fear that this is a terrible sign of worse to come.
"With the disappearance of Emperor Toturi, the Imperial and Provincial courts are dangerously bordering a state of upheaval. Daimyo Yoshi-sama, knowing how precarious the situation is had cleverly devised a way to conveniently move most of us, the courtiers and the artisans, out of the courts temporarily. Several weeks ago Yoshi appealed for a national program to reinforce and further spread culture and the arts in Rokugan through travelling groups of Crane artisans. It barely passed. And thank goodness, it did.
"When will this madness end? I am so troubled with these events that I am plagued with insomnia. Even my writing is suffering. I haven't written anything decent in weeks! My koto sits uncovered, and yet also untouched. I pray to our ancestors that somehow, things will work out in the end."
His daimyo had somehow known, had somehow saved his life. And now the lands burned with war. The musician laid down his brush. This day, as it had been the day before and the day before that, there was nothing left to say.
The artisan laid down his tools, and bowed before the work he had created. "Lady Doji, please carry my prayer. Carry the prayers of all our hearts," he said in a whisper.
"A package has arrived for you, my Lord," The young woman knelt before him, extending the gift on a tray. Its wrappings were simple white, and the daimyo nodded and took the gift thoughtfully.
"Who is it from?" he asked, running his fingers across the skillfully folded paper tied with red string.
"It was sent by one of the artisans, my Lord. He retired many years ago, and none have seen his work since that time. He sent the message with it." The woman again bowed.
The daimyo nodded, and opened the package. Within, a perfect statue of blue jade, a woman with haunted eyes and a compassionate expression. In one hand she held a sheathed sword, in the other a fan, and at her feet, the single, perfect kanji: Peace. The daimyo opened the letter.
Tamako-Sama,
I write this on behalf of the people of this village, who are starving. I write this on behalf the samurai of this land, whose hearts are wrenched with the sorrow of fighting their own clan. I write you in the memory of Kakita Yoshi-sama and with the tears of the Lady Doji in my heart. Please intercede for us. Please act to stop this war. I know that, were the Asahina to enter the field of battle, without spell or weapons, and stood between the armies of Kuwanan-sama and Uji-sama, no samurai of the Crane would betray their ancestors and their honor to strike them down. The Crane have always clung to honor, and many would request Seppuku than raise weapons against the unarmed Asahina. If Uji-sama and Kuwanan-sama see what their men would do rather than fight, surely the course of honor would be revealed to them. In my heart, I mourn the risk, but it is the only way I can see to end this suffering. Please, I implore you, consider these words, and the suffering of your people. Surely Lady Doji weeps.
An Artisan of your People.