A Life Offered
by Akodo Kibo
The large room was empty, the only sound that he perceived was his own heart beating and the subtle quiver of the flames in the braziers that lit the room. His vision was clouded by some sort of moistness in the eyes, but there was naught else to see but the wooden floor as he kowtowed completely before the small dais. In his hands he held a life, his own life, his honor in offering to the younger man sitting on a small cushion upon that dais.
"I cannot say," the young man began, "that this offering is completely unexpected, Akodo-san. There have been many who have come before me in recent days making the same offering. I have accepted it from a few, but most I have refused. My father told me that I must weigh Honor carefully against Duty at such times."
Kibo said nothing, but the thoughts raced through his mind nonetheless. 'The weight is unbearable. I live but they died, why do I deserve life more than they? I should have stood watch that night. I was so tired, they volunteered to take the watch. Weakness, Weakness! I can feel their eyes on me from Yomi. They judge my actions, how can I satisfy them. It is a way out, a way to atone. Accept my blade, please!'
"I have read your report, Gunso. I have spoken with your commanders. You fought valiantly, your personal squad of five against a full guntai of zombies and a squad of their bushi in the dead of night." There was the sound of paper rustling, a scroll unravelling. "I see no dishonor here. Your squad died on their feet against vastly superior numbers. You dispatched two of their Bushi and recovered a daisho thought lost at Oblivion's Gate more than 75 years ago. Why should I accept the seppuku of such a samurai?"
Kibo had no answer, but the guilt continued to eat at him. 'I fought for my life. I wasn't seeking glory or any greater duty. Mitsuhide took that hit and paid dearly. I couldn't save him either.' The faces flashed before his eyes, just above the wooded floor. Kibo took a moment to steady his own voice, but finally replied, "I lost my squad, my sole responsibility."
Akodo Kibo felt the young daimyo's gaze, another weight to add to the others. "Your squad died, yes. None of them will be corrupted or used against us. None of them face Emma-O with any shame or regret. None of their lives were spent carelessly. You saw to all of that, Akodo-san."
The images continued, hurried orders in the waning firelight. Meeting the charge with spears, cutting through the bone and sinew of the dead. Five, Four, Three, only two remain. The Daigotsu bellowing, its nagamaki slicing the air kami themselves. The shove from behind, death, sacrifice. The Daigotsu's final curse. The realization. Cutting the heads from his own squadmates. Recovering their daisho. Building the four funeral pyres, fed with dead wood, lacquered armor and letters from home. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, a smell that would never leave him. "Hai," was all that Kibo could manage.
"Unless the report that I have received are exaggerated of course." The sound of paper crinkling as the scroll is set aside. "A Lion would never exaggerate, would they Akodo-san?"
This aroused indignation, overriding the other emotions within Kibo. 'Exaggerate? Never. If I had decided to exaggerate anything, it would have been the actions of my squad. They fought well, they deserved most of the credit that you are giving me now. They deserve stories and songs, poems and artwork. Not some discarded report in a dusty closet.' The good times, the laughter shared in comradeship, the taunting, all these arose to the top of his mind, but Kibo's response was a simple one. "Never. Honesty, in all things."
"You are too useful to the empire, Akodo-san. We will find a place for you where you will continue to be useful. Once your duty is complete, then I shall consider your gift again."
The gaze from beyond held firm, the weight made heavier.
by Akodo Kibo
The large room was empty, the only sound that he perceived was his own heart beating and the subtle quiver of the flames in the braziers that lit the room. His vision was clouded by some sort of moistness in the eyes, but there was naught else to see but the wooden floor as he kowtowed completely before the small dais. In his hands he held a life, his own life, his honor in offering to the younger man sitting on a small cushion upon that dais.
"I cannot say," the young man began, "that this offering is completely unexpected, Akodo-san. There have been many who have come before me in recent days making the same offering. I have accepted it from a few, but most I have refused. My father told me that I must weigh Honor carefully against Duty at such times."
Kibo said nothing, but the thoughts raced through his mind nonetheless. 'The weight is unbearable. I live but they died, why do I deserve life more than they? I should have stood watch that night. I was so tired, they volunteered to take the watch. Weakness, Weakness! I can feel their eyes on me from Yomi. They judge my actions, how can I satisfy them. It is a way out, a way to atone. Accept my blade, please!'
"I have read your report, Gunso. I have spoken with your commanders. You fought valiantly, your personal squad of five against a full guntai of zombies and a squad of their bushi in the dead of night." There was the sound of paper rustling, a scroll unravelling. "I see no dishonor here. Your squad died on their feet against vastly superior numbers. You dispatched two of their Bushi and recovered a daisho thought lost at Oblivion's Gate more than 75 years ago. Why should I accept the seppuku of such a samurai?"
Kibo had no answer, but the guilt continued to eat at him. 'I fought for my life. I wasn't seeking glory or any greater duty. Mitsuhide took that hit and paid dearly. I couldn't save him either.' The faces flashed before his eyes, just above the wooded floor. Kibo took a moment to steady his own voice, but finally replied, "I lost my squad, my sole responsibility."
Akodo Kibo felt the young daimyo's gaze, another weight to add to the others. "Your squad died, yes. None of them will be corrupted or used against us. None of them face Emma-O with any shame or regret. None of their lives were spent carelessly. You saw to all of that, Akodo-san."
The images continued, hurried orders in the waning firelight. Meeting the charge with spears, cutting through the bone and sinew of the dead. Five, Four, Three, only two remain. The Daigotsu bellowing, its nagamaki slicing the air kami themselves. The shove from behind, death, sacrifice. The Daigotsu's final curse. The realization. Cutting the heads from his own squadmates. Recovering their daisho. Building the four funeral pyres, fed with dead wood, lacquered armor and letters from home. The smell of burning flesh filled his nostrils, a smell that would never leave him. "Hai," was all that Kibo could manage.
"Unless the report that I have received are exaggerated of course." The sound of paper crinkling as the scroll is set aside. "A Lion would never exaggerate, would they Akodo-san?"
This aroused indignation, overriding the other emotions within Kibo. 'Exaggerate? Never. If I had decided to exaggerate anything, it would have been the actions of my squad. They fought well, they deserved most of the credit that you are giving me now. They deserve stories and songs, poems and artwork. Not some discarded report in a dusty closet.' The good times, the laughter shared in comradeship, the taunting, all these arose to the top of his mind, but Kibo's response was a simple one. "Never. Honesty, in all things."
"You are too useful to the empire, Akodo-san. We will find a place for you where you will continue to be useful. Once your duty is complete, then I shall consider your gift again."
The gaze from beyond held firm, the weight made heavier.
