From the Collected Letters of Iuchi Xien,
Karo to Ide Tadaji and Unicorn Clan Diplomat to the Imperial Court
…and my old companion told me, “That is the way of gift-giving here in Rokugan. You must refuse the gift, so the giver can show his sincerity.” His broken voice cackled quietly as he chewed a thin mint leaf between toothless gums.
It is an odd land we have come to live in, stranger than any we have visited in our travels, yet I am assured that this is the land of our ancestors. Though I was born here, I was raised by the Iuchi family, steeped in the traditions and cultures of our ancient travels.
I have served as our ambassador in the Emperor’s halls for nearly two years, and yet I have come to no real conclusion about the society of Rokugan. I was lucky to find a friend in Muyoku. His blindness and my ineptitude balance each other well, as we can help each other understand what might not otherwise be clear. Perhaps the Crane who asked me to care for him knew all too well what he was doing, for Muyoku has colored my vision of this land and its people. Especially those who inhabit the court of the Emperor.
“…I see that, Muyoku-sama, as you have told me before. But it is strange. In the lands of my…I mean, in the lands from which my clan has come, it is a deadly offense to refuse a gift. Men are killed for such an offense.”
Muyoku smiled, and his toothless grin shook his entire face. “Those are old ways. You are in a new land, and you must learn how to be one with its people. You have been here for nearly two hundred years, Unicorn, and it is time you gave up your gaijin culture.”
“Yes, Muyoku-sama,” I said resignedly. For nearly forty years, Seppun Muyoku had served as a translator to the gaijin merchants who had come to this land, and his knowledge of lands outside Rokugan was impressive, although nothing compared to what the Unicorn brought with them. Still, he was the ideal translator and guide, and asking me to care for him served as a polite way of making certain that the Unicorn could be heard in court without insult or misunderstanding. Although most of the Ide were trained to understand the Rokugani courts and their strange ways, the Iuchi were not taught the twists and turns of politics as were the other Unicorn diplomats.
“Who is that approaching?” He whispered into my ear, his ancient hand tightening on my sleeve. I turned to look, and caught my breath in wonder.
“A woman, Muyoku-sama, a very beautiful woman – such as I have never seen before.”
“Is she a Crane?” What colors does she wear?”
“No, Muyoku – she does not wear the blue and silver. Her kimono is scarlet, and she is escorted by a tall, thin man with a long grey beard.”
“This man,” hissed my companion, “Is one of his eyes a strange blue? Swiftly! Tell me!”
I peered at the man, trying to hide my rudeness beneath a soft cough. “Yes, it is, Muyoku-sama.” The pair walked down the thin aisle of shining wood toward the high dais, the young woman’s movements sleek and sensuous beneath her silken kimono. Her eyes, dark and thickly lashed, pierced my heart, and her ebon hair swept the floor in a maiden’s foxtail. The man at her side was aged, his hair a distinguished grey and twisted into the high samurai-style. His blue eye seemed to gleam with a withering light, and I noticed the Imperial Guard growing strangely tense and watchful. How strange, I thought, since the old man’s hands shook with age and his face was lined and worn. Certainly, he was not the sort of man to inspire fear?
“Ahhh….” Muyoku shifted at my side. “The woman is Shosuro Kachiko, said to be the most beautiful maiden in the Empire today. She is only 16, just past her gempukku. Her father, the man with the strange eye, is Shosuro Koshurin, daimyo of the Shosuro. A powerful house within the Scorpion, and a dangerous enemy. What is happening now?”
“They are approaching the dais… The Emperor is greeting them….” I quietly narrated the proceedings, watching closely as the maiden was introduced to the Emperor and his small son. Suddenly, there was a commotion behind us, and a shout broke the softness of the air. A man dressed in the mon of the Crab marched into the chamber, asking the Emperor’s permission to speak. When allowed, he launched into a diatribe of anger, claiming insult from the Shosuro house.
“The young Hiruma is aggravated because he was to be married to Kachiko…” Muyoku informed me. “The arrangement was made when they were children, but her beauty caused the head of their clan, Bayushi Shoju, to ask for her hand instead. The Crab has no real complaint against the house, but since Shosuro Koshurin broke the engagement, the young Hiruma has been seeing a reason for a duel. I shook my head, uncomprehendingly. The twisted politics of Rokugan again. In another land, if a man wanted a woman, he simply bought her from her father, or made an agreement directly with her. Here in Rokugan, life is much more complicated.
“What will happen now?” I asked, as the heady gasps of the court muffled our whispers. “Will Koshurin challenge the Hiruma to a duel? Will there be a battle?”
“If the Shosuro challenges the Hiruma personally, he will no doubt lose – Koshurin is not known for his swordsmanship…” He trailed off into thought for a moment, and I wondered what the blue-eyed man was known for. “Ah!” Muyoku proclaimed, as the Hiruma continued with his challenge. “The Crab is insulting the honor of the maiden now – a bold move, for any who defends her may be accused as well.” I watched the Emperor calmly listening the the Crab’s tirade as the Scorpion and his daughter knelt solemnly upon their cushions. A Unicorn would have leapt upon the arrogant Hiruma and forced him to swallow his words as he said them.
“The Shosuro have brought only an honor guard?” Muyoku asked, and looking around, I saw that it was true. “If Koshurin allows any of his men to accept the duel, they will surely fail and his daughter’s honor will be forever tarnished. Ah, for a Crab, this is a masterful stroke. The timing is perfect!” His faint chuckle echoed, and a nearby courtier shot us an annoyed look. “Either Koshurin gives her in marriage to the Hiruma,” Muyoku continued, undaunted, “allowing his daughter to keep her honor but distancing himself from his daimyo, or he accepts the duel, fails, and she will never marry. Hiruma Maruku is one of the finest duelists in Rokugan, despite his Crab heritage. Any man who accepts the challenge will surely die.”
“Never marry?” I said, aghast. “But – even with a tarnished honor, what man could resist…” I let my words trail, looking a the gently curving shoulders and rich black hair of the silent maiden on her cushion.
“No. Her honor will be destroyed. It will shame her family, and she will be forced to commit seppuku.” Muyoku folded his hands resignedly in his lap.
“Sep…puku…” I breathed. The ritual of death by suicide, an honorable death which would prevent the anger of the ancestors. “The Shosuro is standing now.” I whispered, and the aged daimyo began to speak. “It seems he is going to accept the duel.”
“Then he is a fool,” Muyoku hissed. “And a dead one.”
Suddenly, a rich voice from the back of the audience chamber interrupted Koshurin’s speech. A tall youth, barely a man, whose white hair framed a solemn face stepped forward. He strode toward the daimyo and knelt on one knee as a supplicant. With measured, perfect speech, he beseeched the Scorpion to allow him to fight for the honor of the maiden.
“Who is it?” Muyoku’s thin, bony finger punched into my ribcage. “Who?” I described the handsome warrior, from the sky-blue kimono to the man’s dark, sparkling eyes, and Muyoku’s toothless mouth spread in a froglike grin. “Hoturi….!”
“Hoturi?” I peered forward to catch another glimpse of the silent maiden who sat unmoving on her scarlet cushion. “Hoturi who? Is he a Crane?”
“He is the son of the Crane Daimyo, the Emerald Champion himself, Doji Satsume.” I saw no relief, no gratitude in the mismatched eyes of the Scropion. He merely nodded assent to the samurai, who stood and pointed an accusing finger at the blanching Crab.
“Hoturi’s speaking so fast – Muyoku?” I turned to my instructor, hoping he could hear more clearly what the Crane had said in response to the Crab’s challenge.
“He says…Beauty is its own virtue, and…” Muyoku strained to hear over the court’s whispering, “that the Crab’s dishonorable slander should not be allowed to stain an object of such perfection as the Scorpion’s beauty.” The young Hiruma samurai turned red, and with a bow to the Emperor and a curt dismissal, stormed out the front doors of the audience chamber with his men. The Crane turned once more, and bowed low before Koshurin and his daughter, then followed the Crab.
The audience sat, frozen in an eerie silence. Listening with strained ears, everyone was poised o hear the strike of steel outside as we watched the aged Emperor’s emotionless face. The Scorpion maiden, although barely a woman, sat with regal grace and poise. Her fingers were delicately folded in her lap and her stunning eyes downcast, waiting for the outcome which would decide her life. At last, there was a shout outside, and the ringing sound of blade against blade. Within seconds, it was over, and all was silent again.
When Hoturi entered the chamber, his sword was sheathed and a long, thin line of blood trailed down his left arm, the sleeve of is kimono hanging, torn, by his side. He walked to the dais, bowed to the Emperor, and then turned to the Scorpion daimyo and his daughter. “Is it Hoturi?” Muyoku whispered, agitated.
“What? Oh – oh, yes – yes it is. He’s talking to the Scorpion’s now.” When he was done, the Crane samurai stood and turned to leave, but the whisper-soft voice of the Shosuro maiden made him pause. With a barely perceptible nod from her father, she stood and bowed to Hoturi.
“What’s she doing? What’s that? A fan, she said?”
“Yes, Muyoku-sama, she seems to be giving him her fan,” I said, puzzled. Why would a woman give a man a mere rice-paper fan? What use could such a trivial object possibly be to a samurai warrior? Surely, I would never understand Rokugani ways of showing gratitude.
“So…” Muyoku said, his breath whistling softly. “The Scorpion maiden’s life has been saved, and her honor has been returned.” He paused, and I dutifully narrated the bowing, the polite talk, and the Scorpion family’s leave-taking. As the maiden and her father passed by, I could smell the sweetness of her perfume, and the gentle movements of her silk kimono made my face fill with heat. “But her heart – her heart has been lost.” Muyoku’s words were mere echoes of her footfalls, and I turned toward him.
“Her heart?” I asked. What a foolish thing to say! Of what use is a woman’s heart? A swift sword, or an enemy’s secret – these are powerful things. But there is nothing a Crane could possibly gain from the favor of a little girl.
“Some will say that what you have seen today is nothing more than another chapter in the book of a Crane’s honor. Others will say that it was a political tactic, that Satsume himself planned this in order to gain favor with the Scorpion house.” Muyoku leaned heavily upon my arm as I helped him to his feet, the audience chamber slowly clearing of its elegant courtiers and well-dressed diplomats.
“What would you say, Muyoku-sama?” I asked as we slowly walked out to the gardens of Otosan Uchi.
He snorted loudly, and chewed a piece of mint leaf between toothless gums. “I’d say you still have much to learn, Tetsu-san. About Rokugan, about women, and about the unspoken power of beauty.” His wrinkled chuckle broke through my puzzlement, and I smiled fondly at the wise old man. “But especially,” he said, “about the Crane.”
Karo to Ide Tadaji and Unicorn Clan Diplomat to the Imperial Court
…and my old companion told me, “That is the way of gift-giving here in Rokugan. You must refuse the gift, so the giver can show his sincerity.” His broken voice cackled quietly as he chewed a thin mint leaf between toothless gums.
It is an odd land we have come to live in, stranger than any we have visited in our travels, yet I am assured that this is the land of our ancestors. Though I was born here, I was raised by the Iuchi family, steeped in the traditions and cultures of our ancient travels.
I have served as our ambassador in the Emperor’s halls for nearly two years, and yet I have come to no real conclusion about the society of Rokugan. I was lucky to find a friend in Muyoku. His blindness and my ineptitude balance each other well, as we can help each other understand what might not otherwise be clear. Perhaps the Crane who asked me to care for him knew all too well what he was doing, for Muyoku has colored my vision of this land and its people. Especially those who inhabit the court of the Emperor.
“…I see that, Muyoku-sama, as you have told me before. But it is strange. In the lands of my…I mean, in the lands from which my clan has come, it is a deadly offense to refuse a gift. Men are killed for such an offense.”
Muyoku smiled, and his toothless grin shook his entire face. “Those are old ways. You are in a new land, and you must learn how to be one with its people. You have been here for nearly two hundred years, Unicorn, and it is time you gave up your gaijin culture.”
“Yes, Muyoku-sama,” I said resignedly. For nearly forty years, Seppun Muyoku had served as a translator to the gaijin merchants who had come to this land, and his knowledge of lands outside Rokugan was impressive, although nothing compared to what the Unicorn brought with them. Still, he was the ideal translator and guide, and asking me to care for him served as a polite way of making certain that the Unicorn could be heard in court without insult or misunderstanding. Although most of the Ide were trained to understand the Rokugani courts and their strange ways, the Iuchi were not taught the twists and turns of politics as were the other Unicorn diplomats.
“Who is that approaching?” He whispered into my ear, his ancient hand tightening on my sleeve. I turned to look, and caught my breath in wonder.
“A woman, Muyoku-sama, a very beautiful woman – such as I have never seen before.”
“Is she a Crane?” What colors does she wear?”
“No, Muyoku – she does not wear the blue and silver. Her kimono is scarlet, and she is escorted by a tall, thin man with a long grey beard.”
“This man,” hissed my companion, “Is one of his eyes a strange blue? Swiftly! Tell me!”
I peered at the man, trying to hide my rudeness beneath a soft cough. “Yes, it is, Muyoku-sama.” The pair walked down the thin aisle of shining wood toward the high dais, the young woman’s movements sleek and sensuous beneath her silken kimono. Her eyes, dark and thickly lashed, pierced my heart, and her ebon hair swept the floor in a maiden’s foxtail. The man at her side was aged, his hair a distinguished grey and twisted into the high samurai-style. His blue eye seemed to gleam with a withering light, and I noticed the Imperial Guard growing strangely tense and watchful. How strange, I thought, since the old man’s hands shook with age and his face was lined and worn. Certainly, he was not the sort of man to inspire fear?
“Ahhh….” Muyoku shifted at my side. “The woman is Shosuro Kachiko, said to be the most beautiful maiden in the Empire today. She is only 16, just past her gempukku. Her father, the man with the strange eye, is Shosuro Koshurin, daimyo of the Shosuro. A powerful house within the Scorpion, and a dangerous enemy. What is happening now?”
“They are approaching the dais… The Emperor is greeting them….” I quietly narrated the proceedings, watching closely as the maiden was introduced to the Emperor and his small son. Suddenly, there was a commotion behind us, and a shout broke the softness of the air. A man dressed in the mon of the Crab marched into the chamber, asking the Emperor’s permission to speak. When allowed, he launched into a diatribe of anger, claiming insult from the Shosuro house.
“The young Hiruma is aggravated because he was to be married to Kachiko…” Muyoku informed me. “The arrangement was made when they were children, but her beauty caused the head of their clan, Bayushi Shoju, to ask for her hand instead. The Crab has no real complaint against the house, but since Shosuro Koshurin broke the engagement, the young Hiruma has been seeing a reason for a duel. I shook my head, uncomprehendingly. The twisted politics of Rokugan again. In another land, if a man wanted a woman, he simply bought her from her father, or made an agreement directly with her. Here in Rokugan, life is much more complicated.
“What will happen now?” I asked, as the heady gasps of the court muffled our whispers. “Will Koshurin challenge the Hiruma to a duel? Will there be a battle?”
“If the Shosuro challenges the Hiruma personally, he will no doubt lose – Koshurin is not known for his swordsmanship…” He trailed off into thought for a moment, and I wondered what the blue-eyed man was known for. “Ah!” Muyoku proclaimed, as the Hiruma continued with his challenge. “The Crab is insulting the honor of the maiden now – a bold move, for any who defends her may be accused as well.” I watched the Emperor calmly listening the the Crab’s tirade as the Scorpion and his daughter knelt solemnly upon their cushions. A Unicorn would have leapt upon the arrogant Hiruma and forced him to swallow his words as he said them.
“The Shosuro have brought only an honor guard?” Muyoku asked, and looking around, I saw that it was true. “If Koshurin allows any of his men to accept the duel, they will surely fail and his daughter’s honor will be forever tarnished. Ah, for a Crab, this is a masterful stroke. The timing is perfect!” His faint chuckle echoed, and a nearby courtier shot us an annoyed look. “Either Koshurin gives her in marriage to the Hiruma,” Muyoku continued, undaunted, “allowing his daughter to keep her honor but distancing himself from his daimyo, or he accepts the duel, fails, and she will never marry. Hiruma Maruku is one of the finest duelists in Rokugan, despite his Crab heritage. Any man who accepts the challenge will surely die.”
“Never marry?” I said, aghast. “But – even with a tarnished honor, what man could resist…” I let my words trail, looking a the gently curving shoulders and rich black hair of the silent maiden on her cushion.
“No. Her honor will be destroyed. It will shame her family, and she will be forced to commit seppuku.” Muyoku folded his hands resignedly in his lap.
“Sep…puku…” I breathed. The ritual of death by suicide, an honorable death which would prevent the anger of the ancestors. “The Shosuro is standing now.” I whispered, and the aged daimyo began to speak. “It seems he is going to accept the duel.”
“Then he is a fool,” Muyoku hissed. “And a dead one.”
Suddenly, a rich voice from the back of the audience chamber interrupted Koshurin’s speech. A tall youth, barely a man, whose white hair framed a solemn face stepped forward. He strode toward the daimyo and knelt on one knee as a supplicant. With measured, perfect speech, he beseeched the Scorpion to allow him to fight for the honor of the maiden.
“Who is it?” Muyoku’s thin, bony finger punched into my ribcage. “Who?” I described the handsome warrior, from the sky-blue kimono to the man’s dark, sparkling eyes, and Muyoku’s toothless mouth spread in a froglike grin. “Hoturi….!”
“Hoturi?” I peered forward to catch another glimpse of the silent maiden who sat unmoving on her scarlet cushion. “Hoturi who? Is he a Crane?”
“He is the son of the Crane Daimyo, the Emerald Champion himself, Doji Satsume.” I saw no relief, no gratitude in the mismatched eyes of the Scropion. He merely nodded assent to the samurai, who stood and pointed an accusing finger at the blanching Crab.
“Hoturi’s speaking so fast – Muyoku?” I turned to my instructor, hoping he could hear more clearly what the Crane had said in response to the Crab’s challenge.
“He says…Beauty is its own virtue, and…” Muyoku strained to hear over the court’s whispering, “that the Crab’s dishonorable slander should not be allowed to stain an object of such perfection as the Scorpion’s beauty.” The young Hiruma samurai turned red, and with a bow to the Emperor and a curt dismissal, stormed out the front doors of the audience chamber with his men. The Crane turned once more, and bowed low before Koshurin and his daughter, then followed the Crab.
The audience sat, frozen in an eerie silence. Listening with strained ears, everyone was poised o hear the strike of steel outside as we watched the aged Emperor’s emotionless face. The Scorpion maiden, although barely a woman, sat with regal grace and poise. Her fingers were delicately folded in her lap and her stunning eyes downcast, waiting for the outcome which would decide her life. At last, there was a shout outside, and the ringing sound of blade against blade. Within seconds, it was over, and all was silent again.
When Hoturi entered the chamber, his sword was sheathed and a long, thin line of blood trailed down his left arm, the sleeve of is kimono hanging, torn, by his side. He walked to the dais, bowed to the Emperor, and then turned to the Scorpion daimyo and his daughter. “Is it Hoturi?” Muyoku whispered, agitated.
“What? Oh – oh, yes – yes it is. He’s talking to the Scorpion’s now.” When he was done, the Crane samurai stood and turned to leave, but the whisper-soft voice of the Shosuro maiden made him pause. With a barely perceptible nod from her father, she stood and bowed to Hoturi.
“What’s she doing? What’s that? A fan, she said?”
“Yes, Muyoku-sama, she seems to be giving him her fan,” I said, puzzled. Why would a woman give a man a mere rice-paper fan? What use could such a trivial object possibly be to a samurai warrior? Surely, I would never understand Rokugani ways of showing gratitude.
“So…” Muyoku said, his breath whistling softly. “The Scorpion maiden’s life has been saved, and her honor has been returned.” He paused, and I dutifully narrated the bowing, the polite talk, and the Scorpion family’s leave-taking. As the maiden and her father passed by, I could smell the sweetness of her perfume, and the gentle movements of her silk kimono made my face fill with heat. “But her heart – her heart has been lost.” Muyoku’s words were mere echoes of her footfalls, and I turned toward him.
“Her heart?” I asked. What a foolish thing to say! Of what use is a woman’s heart? A swift sword, or an enemy’s secret – these are powerful things. But there is nothing a Crane could possibly gain from the favor of a little girl.
“Some will say that what you have seen today is nothing more than another chapter in the book of a Crane’s honor. Others will say that it was a political tactic, that Satsume himself planned this in order to gain favor with the Scorpion house.” Muyoku leaned heavily upon my arm as I helped him to his feet, the audience chamber slowly clearing of its elegant courtiers and well-dressed diplomats.
“What would you say, Muyoku-sama?” I asked as we slowly walked out to the gardens of Otosan Uchi.
He snorted loudly, and chewed a piece of mint leaf between toothless gums. “I’d say you still have much to learn, Tetsu-san. About Rokugan, about women, and about the unspoken power of beauty.” His wrinkled chuckle broke through my puzzlement, and I smiled fondly at the wise old man. “But especially,” he said, “about the Crane.”