Blood Dawn, Part V:
Bonds of Honor
By Rich Wulf

The Burning Sands…

“The Doomseeker has not yet worn its mask,” Adisabah said, keen cat eyes fixed on the steel mask Katamari carried under one arm. “One would think that meat might wish to see how the mask felt.”

Katamari stopped pacing and looked at the rakshasa. “I am not ready,” he said.

“Meat do not trust Adisabah, it means,” the rakshasa said with a low chuckle. “Adisabah has saved meat's life. Adisabah has brought meat here, armed it against Iuchiban. Yet still meat looks upon the open hand and seeks the dagger beneath.”

“Yes,” Katamari said flatly. “I believe that if you wished me dead, you could have killed me any time… but there are fates worse than death.”

“Meat is very wise,” Adisabah replied. “A false gift is the jailer's greatest weapon. So has it been given before. So it has been given today. Four swords forged on an anvil of despair nearly cut your Empire to its core. So sad for the jailer that the finest blade had two edges, and it cut him… though the jailer did not see.”

“Explain,” Katamari demanded.

“Four Bloodswords, though one is not quite what it appears,” Adisabah replied. “Find the Hidden City, Doomseeker, the answers will be found there. Yet the gifts of the past are not what should concern it. Worry for the gifts of the present. Worry for the Egg of Pan Ku.”

“That name sounds familiar,” Katamari said.

“Learn it well, Doomseeker,” Adisabah replied, “the tale grows darker here…”

The Shadowlands

“Such a small thing,” Iuchiban said, turning over the colorfully painted egg in one hand. Strange images swirled over its surface, seeming to move and shift with the moment. The Bloodspeaker's eyes were flat and emotionless as he gazed upon it, absorbed in the power he sensed within. A grim smile played across his aquiline features. “It hardly seems dangerous at all, does it?”

He turned his gaze toward the thin woman standing in the shadows, just out of range of the ring of torches that lit the heart of Iuchiban's sanctum. Her face was literally without expression, an unmarred stretch of skin where the features should be.

Like an egg.

“I can assure you, Iuchiban, it is every bit as dangerous as we promised you,” the woman said, her voice unaffected by her lack of any mouth with which to speak. “Nine times the Egg of Pan Ku has nearly shattered the Empire… though it often moves subtly. The Empire recalls its use only twice.” She chuckled lightly. “Its power is considerable.”

“Considerable…” Iuchiban mused, “but is it controllable?”

“Any power can be controlled by one who understands it well enough,” the woman replied. “Surely you, of all men, recognize that Lord Iuchiban.”

Iuchiban said nothing at first, only continued studying the Egg's brightly painted surface. “As I understand it, Pan Ku was once a dragon, as mighty as his Celestial brethren. He was deceived by Fu Leng and fell to corruption…” Iuchiban frowned at her. “A dragon who fell to corruption, whose creation can duplicate any form it desires. This tale is familiar.”

The faceless woman inclined her head slightly. “The Shadow Dragon and Pan Ku share similar origins, their power deriving from both the depths of Jigoku and that which is without form. The Egg's power is thus similar to our own. We Ninube have returned it to its original form in the past… To do so once again is but a small favor to earn the respect of an ally as mighty as yourself, Lord Iuchiban.”

“Save your flattery, Ninube,” Iuchiban replied. “My agents have told me all there is to know about this artifact… I know how dangerous it is. It bears Pan Ku's curse. To use it risks destruction.”

“And offers great power,” the woman said eagerly. “It can draw upon the fallen dragon's power to create a shadow identical to any creature that lives - it can duplicate any being in Rokugan, and bind their will to the one who uses the Egg!”

“But this twin is not a willing servant,” Iuchiban replied. “They obey the letter, not the spirit, of their master's commands. Such individuals are dangerous…” Iuchiban set the egg carefully upon the small table beside his seat, frowning into the darkness as he pondered the possibilities.

“You do not approve of our gift?” the Ninube asked curiously. “You are disappointed?”

“Not at all,” Iuchiban chuckled. “A curse is a powerful weapon, if used properly. We have many agents who can move unnoticed in the Empire, from whom such a gift would not seem suspicious. I think it would be best if we were to give this Egg to one of our potential foes, instruct them in its use, and allow it to destroy them from within.”

The woman's eggshell face stared back impassively. “What if they do not use the Egg at all?” she asked. “What if they see the danger and destroy it?”

Iuchiban raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Such is not Rokugan's way,” he replied. “They will see power, and they will seek to grasp it,” he looked down at the Egg again. “Even if they see the threat, they will consider themselves above it. Power is not easily set aside, even if that power carries a great risk.”

“To whom shall we give the Egg to then, Lord Iuchiban?” she replied.

“Whoever seems the greatest threat,” he replied evenly. “Whoever stands as the mightiest of our enemies…”

The Kitsu Tombs…

Matsu Nimuro scowled as he ducked through the low, shadowy archways of the Kitsu Tombs. The Lion Champion's shoulders were rigid, his hands balled into fists as he stalked the dusty tunnels. In a small alcove he found Juri, daimyo of the Kitsu family. The old man knelt in deep meditation, his focus on a small lacquered chest that rested on the floor before him.

“You know I do not like this place, Juri-san,” he said in a low voice, eyes narrowing as he studied the arcane carvings that covered the granite walls. “I do not enjoy coming here.”

“I am aware that there are certain aspects of my family's past which you find unsettling, Nimuro-sama,” replied the elderly Kitsu daimyo. “Yet surely you realize that I would not request your presence here were it not of the utmost importance.”

Nimuro nodded quickly. “Were it otherwise I would not be here,” he replied. “Yet I ask that you speak quickly. Our clan faces twin crises in Kaeru Toshi and the Imperial Capital. I scarcely have time to deal with both even without whatever new ill tidings you bring.”

“Then I shall be brief,” Juri replied. “Surely you know the tale of Akodo Ieshige, the samurai who now governs the Okura district of Otosan Uchi. He was overseeing a peasant labor crew as they searched the remains of a shrine that had been ravaged in the fire. They discovered this.” He reached down and opened the box that lay on the floor. Within, nestled in fine silk, was a richly painted egg.

Nimuro frowned. He knelt across from Juri, studying the egg with a careful eye. “What is it?”

“A nemuranai of great power,” he replied. “It has the ability to create a twin of any living being, a twin who will forever obey the commands of the one who uses it. It is called the Egg of Pan Ku.” Juri paused for a long moment. “I know this because when I first summoned my magic to gauge its power, the Egg… spoke to me. It revealed its power.” Juri looked up at Nimuro. “I sent for you as quickly as possible, of course.”

“Such an artifact is unquestionably very dangerous,” Nimuro said in a low voice. “Gifts such as that which this egg promises are never given lightly.”

“This was my thought as well, Nimuro-sama,” Juri replied. “I do not mean to cast such an unwelcome responsibility on your shoulders… but I felt it would be best to seek your advisement before deciding what must be done.”

Nimuro drummed his fingers on one knee as he considered the possibilities. He looked at Juri with a sharp eye. “Is it Tainted?” he asked.

“Not inherently,” Juri replied, “though I sense it has been before. There is a great capacity for evil within this egg.”

“Then my choice is clear,” Nimuro replied. “This nemuranai clearly presents a great danger, this much is clear, but how much greater danger would the Empire face were it to be used by someone less worthy?”

Juri nodded. “I would not wish to see it fall into the hands of the Unicorn, or the Scorpion,” he replied. “Or the Crane,” he added with a wince.

Nimuro frowned at Juri for a moment, then reached for the egg. “I will not do this thing without your blessing, Juri-san. You know the mysteries of magic more clearly than I. But I cannot help but think that, if this shadow-twin should exist, he should be guided by the name and honor of the Lion.”

“Then make your choice, Nimuro-sama,” Juri replied. “You know that I, and all of our clan, will support you.”

Nimuro nodded and reached slowly for the egg. For an instant, the shadows in the Kitsu Tombs seemed to darken. The elements held their breath, waiting for what would happen next.

“What must I do?” Nimuro asked as his fingers brushed the Egg of Pan Ku. “How do I use it?”

Juri's eyes were wide as he stared at the space to Nimuro's right. “You already have, my lord,” he whispered.

And where once there was one Lion Champion, now there were two.

One sat upright and alert, eyes fixed upon his new companion. The other sat back on his heels, eyes glazed and confused as he stared blankly at the floor. His jaw worked without sound. He opened one hand and stared at the palm, dark eyes following the lines he found there with quiet awe.

“Something is wrong,” Nimuro said quietly. “This twin seems bewildered by his own existence.”

“I sense great residual elemental magic flowing through his being,” Juri replied. “We know very little about how the Egg truly functions. This may be quite normal. This may require more study.”

Nimuro nodded silently as he continued to study his counterpart. “Keep him safe, Juri. I leave this creature in your hands.”

“I have just the place for him,” Juri replied. He turned to the silent twin. “Nimuro-san, come with me.”

The Lion Champion lifted one hand sharply and glared at Juri. “No,” he said softly. “Do not call him that. Magic may have made him my twin, but we are not the same. He will require a name.”

“Very well, my lord,” Juri said, bowing to his Champion. “What name would you recommend?”

“Call him Tamago,” Nimuro said, “for the egg from which he came.” He turned to his twin. “You are Tamago now,” he said. “Do you understand this name?”

The twin looked up at Nimuro. For an instant, a flicker of recognition shone there, only to be replaced by dull confusion. “Tamago,” he mumbled.

“I must return to Toshi Ranbo,” Nimuro said as he rose. “Keep me updated with his progress, Juri.”

“Hai, sama,” Juri replied.

“And…” Nimuro paused for a long moment, considering his thoughts carefully. “Tell no one of what has happened here. There are many who would not understand the choices we have made. This creature must not be released upon the Empire until we are certain that he poses no danger.”

“And if he does?” Juri asked.

“I rely upon your wisdom, Juri-san,” Nimuro said. “If you judge that you must destroy this thing I have created… then do so.”

“Hai, Nimuro-sama,” the old shugenja replied.

One Month Later…

The shoji screen slid aside with a snap, distracting Juri from his meditations. A wide-eyed servant bowed deeply and opened his mouth to begin an explanation, but was quickly pushed aside by the Kitsu's visitor. She was a small woman, though she moved with the easy strength of a warrior. She wore a rough kimono, the sort generally worn beneath armor. Her fiery red hair hung in an uneven topknot. She had the overall look of a samurai fresh from the road who had composed herself only as much as etiquette demanded before meeting with the lord of the house.

Juri was not surprised in the least. His servants had informed him that the Champion's sister had arrived the instant they saw her approaching the Tombs. If anything, he was surprised that the brash young warrior had paused long enough to strip off her armor before paying her respects. Perhaps the greater responsibilities her brother had bestowed upon her were beginning to teach some modicum of etiquette. Anything was possible.

“Satomi-chan,” Juri said, rising and bowing as much as his aged knees and higher station would allow. “We are pleased to have such an esteemed visitor in the Kitsu Tombs, though admittedly it comes as some surprise, given the difficulties in Toshi Ranbo, that your brother would send such a valued advisor. Is there something wrong?”

“I should say so,” Satomi said in a low voice. She reached into her obi and drew out a long tanto, still sheathed in its saya. She held the weapon out for Juri to examine. The aged daimyo did not fail to notice that Satomi had not yet bowed, and that her full lips were now pressed into a thin scowl.

“A tanto,” Juri said, glancing at the knife curiously. His customary squint changed to a wide eyed stare as he noticed the symbol on its hilt.

“You recognize it?” she asked.

“It bears the mark of both of our families,” Juri replied. “Kitsu and Matsu. It is a weapon entrusted only to he who protects the Hall of Ancestors.”

“My brother, Domotai,” Satomi replied. “On his death it was given to Nimuro.”

Juri looked at Satomi curiously. “Has something happened to Lord Nimuro?” he asked.

“I do not know,” Satomi said coldly. “Has it?”

“Satomi-chan, I do not understand this line of questioning,” Juri replied, wizened brows furrowing as he seated himself carefully beside a small shrine. “Nor do I appreciate the accusatory tone I sense in your voice. You are my lord's sister, that earns you a token of patience I would otherwise not afford such ill-spoken words, but even that token can be spent. If there is a problem, speak of it, or trouble me not.”

“Why was this dagger given to me by a lowly eta?” Satomi asked in a low voice. “Why did he claim that a man claiming to be his master, Lord Nimuro, had given it to him with orders that it be given to his sister? Why, when I visited my brother the same day I received it, did I see the same knife still resting in his obi? What magic is this, Juri?”

The old shugenja sighed deeply. “You traveled all this way, abandoned the crisis in Toshi Ranbo, on the word of an eta stranger?”

“Look at the knife, Juri!” she retorted. “It is the same as my brother's – only a handful of people have ever seen that weapon, let alone know it well enough to produce a copy. The man this eta claims he spoke to was a prisoner in these tombs. Since when did the Kitsu Tombs serve as a prison?”

Juri closed his eyes and gathered his patience. When he spoke again, his words were even more terse than normal. “Satomi-chan, hear your own words. You would accept the word of a lowly eta over the Lord of a Kitsu? Does the blood of Matsu run so thin that your father's Phoenix curiosity can so dilute your honor?”

Satomi's eyes narrowed. “My father's curiosity also brings wisdom. I know that the Kitsu do not lie, and the fact that you have denied nothing is the only confirmation I require to know something is not right. Tell me that nothing is amiss, Juri-sama, in no uncertain terms. Tell me this, and I will apologize and depart.”

Juri bowed his head and folded his arms in the sleeves of his robes, as if hoping to force Satomi away simply by denying her presence there.

“Very well,” Satomi said. “Now, is that my brother's dagger, or is it not? I would think, given your position, that at the very least you would be interested in knowing how such a forgery came into being.”

The answers you demand are not mine to give,” Juri said, looking up at her. Satomi was taken back momentarily by the orange-gold sheen of the old man's eyes. “Ask your brother.”

“I am asking you,” she replied.

“Why?” he replied, suddenly concerned. “Is something wrong with Nimuro?”

“He has too many worries,” Satomi replied. “I would not add to them until I know what is going on here.”

Juri nodded. “I can tell you only this – the answers you require are bound by an oath I swore to your brother. This night I shall call upon the kami of wind and water to send a message to your brother, and tell him what you have seen. Should he permit me, I shall tell you everything you wish to know.”

Satomi frowned as she rose, clearly displeased with the compromise. “Very well,” she said. “I will remain here at the Tombs until my questions are answered, Juri-sama.” Satomi turned and left the chamber, leaving the weight of her words to hang in the air. The implication was obvious – Satomi would have the answers she sought whether the old Kitsu provided them or not.

The Kitsu Tombs…

Matsu Satomi reined in her horse and looked to the western horizon. The sky churned with storm clouds. The air was thick and had a slightly coppery smell. The young Battle Maiden looked back at the Kitsu Tombs pensively. The squat complex was unlike other temples, surrounded by a thick wall of dark gray stone.

“My lady, you should seek shelter from the storm,” said a voice.

Satomi glanced down quickly. A small man in samurai armor approached her on the road, carrying a naginata in one hand. His armor marked him as a Kitsu, one of the bushi who guarded the Tombs.

“It is only rain,” she replied, eyeing the distant clouds.

“I would not underestimate this storm,” she said. “The Tombs would be safer for you… though I think perhaps what is safe does not interest a warrior such as yourself, Matsu Satomi.”

She looked down at him with a small smile. “What is your name, Kitsu?”

“Kasai,” he replied with a short bow. “And now that we have been introduced, I believe I can aid you in your quest.”

“Quest?” she said with a frown.

“You came seeking answers, Satomi-sama,” he replied. “Kitsu Juri was not ready to provide them – but he is not the only one who can answer your questions.”

Satomi looked down at the man suspiciously. “What are you talking about?” she asked. Thunder growled in the southern sky. “What do you know of my purpose here?”

The man turned and walked away down the path, glancing back once to see if Satomi followed. Satomi sighed and kicked her horse to a trot, following the man as he left the path. She kept one hand on her katana, prepared for any sign of betrayal. On some level she hoped this would be a trap. She was more used to dealing with problems using her sword; an ambush would be a welcome change.

She arrived in a small clearing. A solitary man waited for her there. He wore a thick cloak, with a wide straw hat slung over his face.

“Konnichiwa, Satomi-chan,” he called out. “You are as beautiful as always. You have done well, Shimizu.”

“Shimizu?” she said, looking curiously at the man. “You said your name was Kasai.”

“It is,” Kasai replied. The man bowed to the shadowed stranger then departed.

“You have come seeking answers,” he said, “but choose your questions wisely. I must answer only one.” He pulled his straw hat aside and threw it to the earth. His face was lean and gaunt, long black hair spilling over his shoulders. Satomi recognized him immediately, and her katana appeared in her hand. She lunged at him with a fierce cry, but he moved with extraordinary speed. He snatched the katana from her hand in mid-stroke and delivered her a savage backhand, sending her flying across the clearing.

“Matsu Turi,” she hissed as she rose. “The Dark Oracle.”

“Satomi-chan,” he said, bowing deeply as he discarded her katana in the grass. “I regret we did not have the opportunity to meet on the Plains Above Evil.”

“I was told the Dark Oracles had departed this realm,” she replied.

“The others left, for their business was done,” he replied. “I had one bargain yet unfulfilled, so I returned to make good on it. I was to have a student, a true warrior of the Matsu.”

“You had your chance,” Satomi said with a grim smile. “My brother served you as befit a true Lion. Your bargain is fulfilled”

Turi scowled as he advanced slowly toward her. “Matsu Nimuro feels differently. He offered you to me, even told me where to find you.”

“My brother summoned you?” Satomi retorted. “I don't believe you!” She leapt toward him, swinging her wakizashi in a wild arc. Turi seized her wrist in a bone-grinding grip, but Satomi had counted on as much. With her free hand, she buried Domotai's dagger deep in his stomach. The Dark Oracle of Water winced in discomfort. A trickle of bright red blood escaped the corner of his mouth. She twisted the dagger, forcing him to seize her other wrist and pull it away from the weapon, leaving it buried in his belly.

“You asked me a question,” Turi said, more blood spilling from his lips. The sky grew rapidly dark, and red lightning flashed overhead. “So the answer shall be truth. Yes, I was summoned by Matsu Nimuro, but I was not summoned by your brother. Your brother languishes in the Kitsu Tombs.”

“Damn you, Turi!” Satomi screamed.

“That would be quite redundant,” he said, squeezing her wrists with a sneer. “I think it more likely that you shall be damned, Matsu Satomi. For your anger, your weakness, and for your failure to recognize the truth and help Nimuro. Think upon that as the rains fall upon us.”

Then thunder crashed again, and blood fell from the sky.

Kaeru Toshi…

He had promised that this would be his last battle. He had told his wife that he would not put on his armor again, that he would retire to a peaceful life.

Matsu Goemon now feared that he was right, at least about the first part. This may well be his last battle – nothing could survive this.

“General!” Matsu Goemon shouted across the blood-drenched battlefield, seeking to be heard above the thunder and mayhem.

The chaos of battle was nothing new to Goemon. Even the most disciplined soldiers and well trained soldiers seldom retained orderly lines while clashing with the enemy. This, however, was worse than anything the old samurai had seen since the days of the Clan War. Blood rained from the sky, staining his armor, seeping into his skin. He felt a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, a wretched sensation that seemed to gnaw upon his soul. He pushed the feeling aside, focusing on the situation at hand. He was here to fight for the honor of the Lion, to wage war in the name of his lord. Now Lion and Unicorn not only fought one another, but turned upon themselves. Red lightning flashed across the sky, lighting the bloodbath with an eerie radiance. This was a rain of madness, and all were swiftly becoming consumed.

Goemon saw a soldier raise an iron fan, marked with the mon of the Akodo family. He recognized it as the tessen of his general, Tadenori, and called out to him again. If any man could restore order to the Lion troops, it was he. If any man could draw honor from such madness, it was Tadenori. Goemon advanced behind the general just as he cut a Unicorn from his steed with a single stroke of his sword.

“General!” he cried. “We must regroup! We must rally the troops!”

Akodo Tadenori turned, and Goemon knew from the deranged look in the general's eye that he had made a fatal error. If he had been a younger man, he might have lifted his blade in time to defend against the single perfect cut that followed.

Elsewhere…

Goemon awoke in a barren field, staring up at a gray sky. His hand went to his stomach, cut open not a moment before by Tadenori's blade. He knew the truth immediately.

“I have died,” he whispered. “I have died, and this is Meido. The place where failures go to die.”

“You are no failure, Matsu Goemon,” replied a familiar voice. “Your tale is not yet done.”

A tall man with thin, angular features sat on a stone nearby. He wore a simple brown sleeveless kimono. His hair was tied back in a loose topknot. His eyes held a faint, enigmatic amusement. Other figures moved behind him, concealed in the shadows. Some seemed familiar to Goemon's eye, but he could not make out the details.

“Emperor Toturi-sama?” Goemon whispered. “What has happened?”

“You are dead, Goemon-san, but you cannot rest,” Toturi said. “The Empire is in danger.”

“You told me once that the Empire is always in danger,” Goemon replied.

Toturi smirked. “This is true,” he replied.

“What must I do, Toturi-sama?” Goemon asked.

“Iuchiban the Heartless strikes out at the Empire,” Toturi replied. “He is a madman, who stands outside the dance of the elements. If left unchecked, his conquest will not stop at Rokugan.”

“It will not even begin with Rokugan, if I have any say,” Goemon answered.

“The Legions of Yomi prepare to ride,” Toturi said, “they will guide the hearts and minds of the Empire's heroes. But they need a leader – one who has died only recently and knows the ways of the modern Empire. They need you, Goemon.”

“Me?” Goemon asked, surprised. “I am nothing… just an old soldier who's lived more than his share of years.”

“Just an old soldier who has survived the Clan War, the War Against the Spirits, the Clan War, and the Four Winds' Struggle,” Toturi replied. “Just an old man who, as much as he doubts in himself, is adamantly loyal to his friends. Just an old man who, though he may speak modestly of his own virtues, knows that one man can make a difference. Just a hero.”

Matsu Goemon bowed his head deeply, too deeply touched by his master's faith in him to argue.

“It is within the Emperor's power to name Fortunes,” Toturi continued, “and though I have died I am an Emperor still. Thus I name you Fortune of Heroes, Matsu Goemon, General of the Legion of the Dead.”

He looked up, a hopeful gleam in his eye. “Will you ride with us, Toturi-sama? What would an army of heroes be without you?” he asked.

“Would that I could, but I cannot,” Toturi replied. “My sons will need me soon.”

“Then may the Fortunes' blessings be on you and your sons,” Goemon replied. “You will all have my blessings, if nothing else.”

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