From Ide Tadahito’s Novel, Meifumado
Rare indeed is the year the Emperor holds his court under the mighty skull that guards Kyuden Hida. Only by the whim of Hantei XXXI were the great daimyos brought to the charred edge of the Shadowlands to silence their squabbles of land and know that they were equals atop the Carpenter’s Wall.
Three daimyo and I were to sleep in a well-furnished guardsman’s chamber, for asking for special treatment from the HIda was inviting insult, and humility is an essential quality of the finest leaders. So this night, our entourage stayed by a roaring fire among the lowly retainers of the Crab.
Each daimyo went to the window one by one, peeking out at a lone figure encased in black steel. He watched for movement in the Shadowlands, as the Crab ever do, leaning on his yari in the long night.
“He does not seem to have so difficult a task this evening,” Bayushi Sashiko opined, gesturing outside with a delicate hand, softer and perhaps colder than the snow. “The wind is silent. The wall is high. The bushi who claims such vigilance could well be Dragon, or Crane, or Scorpion.”
“I would not begrudge the Crab their duty,” added Kakita Toshimichi. “But my own soldiers have guarded walls in winter frost, similarly unflinching.”
“Forgive me if I speak of fighting styles,” Kitsuki Masakatada contributed courteously, “but the Kakita and the Mirumoto have ever argued over the most skilled Yojimbo. If it is the value of a guard we debate, then I cannot fail to nominate my own.”
“Why, let us have a contest,” Shashiko concluded, with a smile. “A contest of Yojimbo. And we shall see how the Crab guard Rokugan.”
“The daimyo summoned three Yojimbo each, and all of us soon crunched ice beneath our feet as we went to talk with the lone bushi.
“Rest inside by the fire a while,” Shashiko suggested, “for you have been out here many hours in the cold, and there are no oni about.”
The Crab made no motion to bow or even look at her. “I will be in the cold for many hours more. The snow falls thick and fast tonight, and the akutenshi will surely attack under its cover. I must refuse, for you are not my lord.”
A few glances passed among the daimyo.
“Samurai,” Kakita Toshimichi tried, “how can you fight when you are frozen to the spot, weary for lack of sleep? Here are nine fresh guards to relieve you, and each of them have fought oni before in our own lands.” At this the daimyo smiled to one another, for he had slighted the guard in the process of revealing a truth.
“I will guard your lives better than any of your finest Yojimbo,” the Crab growled back. “I must refuse, for you know nothing of my post.”
Kitsuki Masakatada held up a hand. “Then let us test it. Let us sleep in this place tonight and each leave three bushi at the walls to aid you. If an oni attacks, we shall see who slays it first.“ He began pacing, turning to the assembled yojimbo. “To the samurai who strikes the mightiest blow, before the court I will bestow a suit of armor laced with jade and gold.” There were many looks among his Mirumoto retainers, for surely this was a great prize.
“For my part, I give a wakizashi,” Toshimichi drew his own, for in the house of the Crab one kept his weapons on at all times. “This one was forged by the Kakita artisans.” At this the Kakita retainers nodded, so hard pressed were they not to show their anticipation.
“I…” the lovely Bayushi paused. “I can think of little I would offer to equal such gifts but perhaps a gentle hand upon his cheek as I fit him with his new gear of war.” And here all the retainers kept respectfully silent, though their hearts jumped at the most lovely prize of all.
The Crab only scowled. “Your bushi will be too slow,” he said, “and they will die. None of you know how fast the akutenshi strike.”
The Kakita and Bayushi destroyed his insult with laughter.
“At dawn,” Masakatada storted, “if you live, I shall speak with your daimyo, and you shall duel our bushi in turn.” He turned to command his Yojimbo. “Dip your swords in jade powder, and keep them unsheathed on your shoulders. Guard the western wall, for the oni may flank us.”
Kakita Toshimichi admonished his men, “Dip you swords in jade powder,” he said thoughtfully, but dip your spears too, for oni blood tarnishes blades. Guard the eastern wall, for it may indeed try to flank us.”
“Dip your arrowheads in jade powder,” Bayushi Sashiko ordered. “and shoot any oni you see, for they fight harder than any man. Guard the northern wall, and look to the roof, for the oni will no doubt appear the last place it is expected.”
And with that, we came inside and warmed ourselves before retiring.
A hellish scream from the south wall gouched the night, shocking us awake. I grabbed for my wakizashi, only to find the Dragon one step ahead of me. The oaken door flew to kindling, and one of the spawn of the Dark Brother floated before us as if made of freezing wind itself.
I thought surely it was a Fortune or the ghost of a god, for it was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. The witch-fire of its eyes lit the room, turning the stone green and the blood on its katanas black. Its skin was the white of Lord Moon, and it slid through the air on slim ankles, stepping on the gust that blew towards Lady Bayushi.
Toshimichi struck without thought at its blades, almost in time. Its steel deflected into the wall and Sashiko’s thigh. She lacked the presence of mind to cry out before the Kitsuki brought his katana and wakizashi together into the creature’s elbow.
The blades stuck, and the room was paralyzed. We realized as one that all the jade powder was outside.
Masakatada fell back in a storm of swords that fanned and whistled and clashed with painful sparks. Just as the door behind me became splinters and I fell to the ground, his hand split down the middle and broke at the forearm. But a burly wall of hellish metal lunged directly into the fray and knocked the demon down with a sound like a smashed palanquin.
Hida Shonojo, daimyo of the Crab, had come at the scream, and he swung a bloodstained iron tetsubo studded with jade and crystal points. The glowing weapon crashed against its body like a tsunami. Yet it stood even after its katana snapped under his first blows; ten more only kept it off him. Its black claws screeched as it strove to tear the ancestral armor from his body, and he wedged the tetsubo between them, trapping the creature against the stone wall.
Just then, his Yojimbo arrived, wedging their yari blades into its ribs. A black-clad Kuni screamed words of power, calling upon the Earth in a spray of greenish sunlight that tore its flesh. As the akutenshi fell to its knees, Shonojo rose like a mountain on end, drawing the glowing-hot blade of Chikara, and brought it down in tireless arms. Once. Twice. Two more times, forcing the night to silence once more.
We stood in the echo of those terrible blwos, looking at the silk-like ghost that had twisted the tetsubo with its flesh and bone, and none of us would speak.
“Those are indeed terrible creatures,” Bayushi Sashiko admitted as the Kuni shugenja tended to her wounds. The smell of her blood was in the air, and it washed away the remaining haze of sake.
“They are,” admitted Toshimichi. “And I would say that the Crab have their warriors as well.”
“What of the contest?” Masakatada asked, composed with the shock that lets a man feel no pain. “And of our bushi?”
At this Hida Shonojo gave only a single world. “What?”
Quickly, the other daimyo told him. He shook his head.
“You should have known better. This is no place for games.”
The Scorpion daimyo burned like the sun. “I am not ungrateful, Hida,” said the Bayushi dangerously, “but in this test, you saved my life, not your arrogant man. Let us see where the fool is now.” And we walked into the pre-dawn cold that turned our breath to crystalline wind.
By the north wall, the Bayushi bushi were dead, torn asunder and covered in black ichor. The Hida retainers decapitated them, gathered their armor, and flashed the codes down the wall that an attack was over. The burakumin put them in the signal fires, and the corpses were soon sheathed in flame.
By the east wall, the Mirumoto bushi were dead, necks cut from behind in slashes just deep enough to break the spine. They, to, were given the Crab’s last rites, and their flesh took a long time to burn.
By the west wall, the Kakita’s swords were speckled with frost and their faces were withered with unnatural age. Maggots burrowed in their veins and it was all I could do to look upon them before they were gone.
By the south wall lay one final armored corpse, his body swarming with flies. They tore bits of his skin off in strange, serrated mandibles, a group venturing as far as his eyes. His ears and lips were already picked away, leaving him grinning in the morning light.
Kitsuki Masakatada wrapped a blanket about his kimono more tightly, and shook his head before bowing. “I believe I understand the lesson, Crab.”
“As do I,” the Kakita said quietly. “We are all equal before the Shadowlands.”
“I have no sympathy,”Bayushi Sashiko spat. “There is no winner to my contest. I will never say that man was equal to my Yojimbo, for he fought no harder and no better. In truth, I see no sign he fought at all.”
The Hida daimyo tunneled through her with a stare.
“Scorpion,” he said gravely, “that man’s job is to scream.”
Three daimyo and I were to sleep in a well-furnished guardsman’s chamber, for asking for special treatment from the HIda was inviting insult, and humility is an essential quality of the finest leaders. So this night, our entourage stayed by a roaring fire among the lowly retainers of the Crab.
Each daimyo went to the window one by one, peeking out at a lone figure encased in black steel. He watched for movement in the Shadowlands, as the Crab ever do, leaning on his yari in the long night.
“He does not seem to have so difficult a task this evening,” Bayushi Sashiko opined, gesturing outside with a delicate hand, softer and perhaps colder than the snow. “The wind is silent. The wall is high. The bushi who claims such vigilance could well be Dragon, or Crane, or Scorpion.”
“I would not begrudge the Crab their duty,” added Kakita Toshimichi. “But my own soldiers have guarded walls in winter frost, similarly unflinching.”
“Forgive me if I speak of fighting styles,” Kitsuki Masakatada contributed courteously, “but the Kakita and the Mirumoto have ever argued over the most skilled Yojimbo. If it is the value of a guard we debate, then I cannot fail to nominate my own.”
“Why, let us have a contest,” Shashiko concluded, with a smile. “A contest of Yojimbo. And we shall see how the Crab guard Rokugan.”
“The daimyo summoned three Yojimbo each, and all of us soon crunched ice beneath our feet as we went to talk with the lone bushi.
“Rest inside by the fire a while,” Shashiko suggested, “for you have been out here many hours in the cold, and there are no oni about.”
The Crab made no motion to bow or even look at her. “I will be in the cold for many hours more. The snow falls thick and fast tonight, and the akutenshi will surely attack under its cover. I must refuse, for you are not my lord.”
A few glances passed among the daimyo.
“Samurai,” Kakita Toshimichi tried, “how can you fight when you are frozen to the spot, weary for lack of sleep? Here are nine fresh guards to relieve you, and each of them have fought oni before in our own lands.” At this the daimyo smiled to one another, for he had slighted the guard in the process of revealing a truth.
“I will guard your lives better than any of your finest Yojimbo,” the Crab growled back. “I must refuse, for you know nothing of my post.”
Kitsuki Masakatada held up a hand. “Then let us test it. Let us sleep in this place tonight and each leave three bushi at the walls to aid you. If an oni attacks, we shall see who slays it first.“ He began pacing, turning to the assembled yojimbo. “To the samurai who strikes the mightiest blow, before the court I will bestow a suit of armor laced with jade and gold.” There were many looks among his Mirumoto retainers, for surely this was a great prize.
“For my part, I give a wakizashi,” Toshimichi drew his own, for in the house of the Crab one kept his weapons on at all times. “This one was forged by the Kakita artisans.” At this the Kakita retainers nodded, so hard pressed were they not to show their anticipation.
“I…” the lovely Bayushi paused. “I can think of little I would offer to equal such gifts but perhaps a gentle hand upon his cheek as I fit him with his new gear of war.” And here all the retainers kept respectfully silent, though their hearts jumped at the most lovely prize of all.
The Crab only scowled. “Your bushi will be too slow,” he said, “and they will die. None of you know how fast the akutenshi strike.”
The Kakita and Bayushi destroyed his insult with laughter.
“At dawn,” Masakatada storted, “if you live, I shall speak with your daimyo, and you shall duel our bushi in turn.” He turned to command his Yojimbo. “Dip your swords in jade powder, and keep them unsheathed on your shoulders. Guard the western wall, for the oni may flank us.”
Kakita Toshimichi admonished his men, “Dip you swords in jade powder,” he said thoughtfully, but dip your spears too, for oni blood tarnishes blades. Guard the eastern wall, for it may indeed try to flank us.”
“Dip your arrowheads in jade powder,” Bayushi Sashiko ordered. “and shoot any oni you see, for they fight harder than any man. Guard the northern wall, and look to the roof, for the oni will no doubt appear the last place it is expected.”
And with that, we came inside and warmed ourselves before retiring.
A hellish scream from the south wall gouched the night, shocking us awake. I grabbed for my wakizashi, only to find the Dragon one step ahead of me. The oaken door flew to kindling, and one of the spawn of the Dark Brother floated before us as if made of freezing wind itself.
I thought surely it was a Fortune or the ghost of a god, for it was the most beautiful man I have ever seen. The witch-fire of its eyes lit the room, turning the stone green and the blood on its katanas black. Its skin was the white of Lord Moon, and it slid through the air on slim ankles, stepping on the gust that blew towards Lady Bayushi.
Toshimichi struck without thought at its blades, almost in time. Its steel deflected into the wall and Sashiko’s thigh. She lacked the presence of mind to cry out before the Kitsuki brought his katana and wakizashi together into the creature’s elbow.
The blades stuck, and the room was paralyzed. We realized as one that all the jade powder was outside.
Masakatada fell back in a storm of swords that fanned and whistled and clashed with painful sparks. Just as the door behind me became splinters and I fell to the ground, his hand split down the middle and broke at the forearm. But a burly wall of hellish metal lunged directly into the fray and knocked the demon down with a sound like a smashed palanquin.
Hida Shonojo, daimyo of the Crab, had come at the scream, and he swung a bloodstained iron tetsubo studded with jade and crystal points. The glowing weapon crashed against its body like a tsunami. Yet it stood even after its katana snapped under his first blows; ten more only kept it off him. Its black claws screeched as it strove to tear the ancestral armor from his body, and he wedged the tetsubo between them, trapping the creature against the stone wall.
Just then, his Yojimbo arrived, wedging their yari blades into its ribs. A black-clad Kuni screamed words of power, calling upon the Earth in a spray of greenish sunlight that tore its flesh. As the akutenshi fell to its knees, Shonojo rose like a mountain on end, drawing the glowing-hot blade of Chikara, and brought it down in tireless arms. Once. Twice. Two more times, forcing the night to silence once more.
We stood in the echo of those terrible blwos, looking at the silk-like ghost that had twisted the tetsubo with its flesh and bone, and none of us would speak.
“Those are indeed terrible creatures,” Bayushi Sashiko admitted as the Kuni shugenja tended to her wounds. The smell of her blood was in the air, and it washed away the remaining haze of sake.
“They are,” admitted Toshimichi. “And I would say that the Crab have their warriors as well.”
“What of the contest?” Masakatada asked, composed with the shock that lets a man feel no pain. “And of our bushi?”
At this Hida Shonojo gave only a single world. “What?”
Quickly, the other daimyo told him. He shook his head.
“You should have known better. This is no place for games.”
The Scorpion daimyo burned like the sun. “I am not ungrateful, Hida,” said the Bayushi dangerously, “but in this test, you saved my life, not your arrogant man. Let us see where the fool is now.” And we walked into the pre-dawn cold that turned our breath to crystalline wind.
By the north wall, the Bayushi bushi were dead, torn asunder and covered in black ichor. The Hida retainers decapitated them, gathered their armor, and flashed the codes down the wall that an attack was over. The burakumin put them in the signal fires, and the corpses were soon sheathed in flame.
By the east wall, the Mirumoto bushi were dead, necks cut from behind in slashes just deep enough to break the spine. They, to, were given the Crab’s last rites, and their flesh took a long time to burn.
By the west wall, the Kakita’s swords were speckled with frost and their faces were withered with unnatural age. Maggots burrowed in their veins and it was all I could do to look upon them before they were gone.
By the south wall lay one final armored corpse, his body swarming with flies. They tore bits of his skin off in strange, serrated mandibles, a group venturing as far as his eyes. His ears and lips were already picked away, leaving him grinning in the morning light.
Kitsuki Masakatada wrapped a blanket about his kimono more tightly, and shook his head before bowing. “I believe I understand the lesson, Crab.”
“As do I,” the Kakita said quietly. “We are all equal before the Shadowlands.”
“I have no sympathy,”Bayushi Sashiko spat. “There is no winner to my contest. I will never say that man was equal to my Yojimbo, for he fought no harder and no better. In truth, I see no sign he fought at all.”
The Hida daimyo tunneled through her with a stare.
“Scorpion,” he said gravely, “that man’s job is to scream.”
