The Twilight Mountains, nine months ago

Daigotsu Tomaro crouched in the loose gravel and searched for any sign of recent passage. Finding nothing, he lifted his head and surveyed the surrounding area, sniffing the air carefully for any unusual scents. He had once been a scout for the Hiruma, and succumbing to the Shadowlands had only sharpened his keen senses. There was definitely something in the area, but he could not find it. So close to the border between the Crab lands and the Shadowlands, there was no way to know what manner of threat it could be. Tomaro grimaced at the uncertainty of it all, but there was nothing to be done. His group could not move any faster without jeopardizing their cargo.

“Anything?”

Tomaro turned back to his comrade with a disgusted expression. “No, but even if there was, I’m sure it would disappear as soon as you started shouting questions at me. Idiot.”

“If I can threaten our safety so easily,” Daigotsu Hiroto responded, “then you are doing a poor job of protecting our charge?” The smaller man patted the flank of the hellbeast that drew the heavy cart. The beast snorted and shook itself angrily, but the iron chains that secured it to the cart held firm

Tomaro turned away in irritation. Given his choice, he would cut Hiroto’s heart out for what he considered the greatest sin: being a fool. Unfortunately, Hiroto was one of a handful of men he knew that could control the massive hellbeasts. The massive creatures wandered the Shadowlands. They were like enormous cattle with thick skin and rows of sharp tusks. Not aggressive unless challenged, they seemed to share a strange affinity with a small number of the Lost. The creatures served as beasts of burden or steeds for heavy cavalry. It was for the beast’s sake, not his master’s that Hiroto was endured.

“I fail to see why we must travel so far, and at such risk, on Omoni’s command,” Hiroto said, oblivious to Tomaro’s murderous fantasies. “He is a foul creature.”

“He is favored by the Dark Lord, and we follow his commands because it is the Dark Lord’s wish,” Tomaro said flatly. “If you feel we should question our master…” The scout’s sentence faded as he suddenly felt eyes upon him. He drew his hunting blade and cast about in every direction, seeking the source.

The hellbeast roared and bucked, trying to shake free from the chains. Hiroto attempted to placate the beast, but it would not be calmed. It thrashed madly until the chains were snapped. The cart tumbled into the rocks, drawing sharp curses from the soldiers. Hiroto drew his blade and stood at Tomaro’s back, waiting for any sign of the enemy. Perhaps he was not so great a fool after all.

Something moved among the rocks above them, leaping across the chasm with such speed that even Tomaro could not follow it. There was a flash of color, but nothing more. More noise followed as the beast moved among the rocks, knocking aside even large boulders. An unfamiliar fluttering sensation filled Tomaro’s breast, and he suddenly recognized that he was being hunted. There would be no victory, only flight or death. He turned and ran, moving as fast as he could. He heard a guttural scream as Hiroto died behind him, then a series of unimaginably loud thuds as something chased him. He was struck in the back and sent flying. He felt several ribs break with the initial impact, and many more when he struck the ground.

A shadow fell over him, and a hulking form blocked the sky. The twisted horns and thick armor pattern finally registered in Tomoro’s mind. “Nikushimi,” he rasped.

“The time of men is over,” the bestial Onisu rasped, raising one clawed hand for the killing strike. “The reign of demons begins”

Three months ago…

The more pleasant regions of the Twilight Mountains were desolate and miserable at best. In the more remote areas, it was a great deal like what Shiba Gyukudo had imagined Jigoku would look like. Empty expanses of wind-swept canyons and sharp, jagged boulders jutting out of every direction. The entire landscape had a hostile, nightmarish feel. He would be grateful when they could finally leave. Unfortunately the surroundings did not seem to have affected the high spirits of his comrade.

Asahina Juneko, his companion, was an oddity. In a family of serene priests, she was a social butterfly, constantly speculating on the gossip she had gathered before their departure. Granted, Juneko was a skilled cartographer, and she certainly was lovely enough to pass the time with, but Gyukudo remained convinced that she had been given her position as an Imperial cartographer simply to get her out of the courts where she would do less harm with her ceaseless rumormongering.

The Toritaka who served as their guide glanced back over his shoulder again in irritation. Unlike Gyukudo, the man had not yet learned to tune out Juneko’s constant chatter. Over the past six months, the Phoenix had learned to ignore everything unless she said certain phrases. “Trouble,” “help,” “what do you think?” and a handful of others drew his attention immediately. To be able to conserve one’s attention for when it was truly required yet appear to always be listening was, Gyukudo thought, the most valuable skill a yojimbo could possess.

It was the sudden silence from Juneko that first alarmed Gyukudo. He glanced over at her to find the young woman staring intently into a small pass off from the one through which they were currently traveling. “What is that area?” she demanded.

The guide turned back to them with an even more irritated expression, if that was possible. “Just a washout,” he replied. “They’re unsafe. Too much loose rock.”

“We have to go there,” Juneko replied, as if she had not heard the Crab.

“I just said…” the man started.

“We have to go there,” Juneko said forcefully. Her gaze was more intent and focused than Gyukudo had ever seen. “There is… we have to go in.”

The Crab glanced at Gyukudo, who nodded slowly. The man sighed in disgust. “Fine, but we have to leave the horses. They will break their legs in there before we get a hundred feet.”

Gyukudo nodded and dismounted, keeping a hand on his blade. He stepped closer to his charge. “Juneko-san, is this wise?” he said in a low voice so that their guide could not hear.

“There is something powerful there,” Juneko whispered. “You are a Phoenix. Can you feel it?”

Gyukudo looked into the pass again and turned back with a shake of his head. “I have no idea what you are talking about. Are you feeling ill?”

Juneko waved his comment away. “Let’s go,” she said, “but be on guard.”

“Have no fear of that,” Gyukudo whispered as he followed the guide into the narrow ravine.

It was nearly an hour later before the Toritaka finally threatened to turn back. Juneko repeatedly demanded that they continue.

“This is ridiculous,” he insisted. “I will go no farther. Why do we scout this area? When the rainy season comes, this chasm will cease to exist. Any maps you make that include it will be completely useless.” Gyukudo could tell from the man’s expression that he was worried about more than useless cartography.

“No farther,” the Crane said, much to Gyukudo’s relief. “It is here.” She walked to a large pile of rocks that lay nestled against the chasm wall and began feverishly picking them aside. “It’s here,” she repeated.

“Enough,” the Crab said, turning to Gyukudo. “She is mad. For our safety I recommend you take command of your charge so that we can leave this place.”

Gyukudo stared at the feverish, oblivious Juneko for a moment. “Give her a few moments,” he finally said. “Something strange is happening here.”

The Crab threw his hands up in disgust and walked a short distance up the chasm. Gyukudo could hear him muttering something about Crane and Phoenix, but paid him no mind. Instead, he approached Juneko. “Juneko-san,” he said softly, “can you tell me what is happening?”

“Here!” she exclaimed breathlessly. “Here it is!” She stepped back for a moment and gestured into the rocks triumphantly. Beneath the rocks, she had uncovered something black. It appeared to be a mass of black steel, inscribed with strange kanji and the images of screaming, tormented faces. The sight of the thing filled him with a cold sensation of dread. He had the feeling that the many faces were staring at him, calling to him.He shook himself to clear his mind.

“What is that?” the Crab scout said, suddenly standing at Gyukudo’s shoulder. He held a knife in one hand now. “What is that thing?”

“I sensed it here,” Juneko whispered. Gyukudo could tell she was not talking to them, and may not be aware of where she was. “It called to me. It is the shame of all Asahina. The Anvil of Despair.”

Both Gyukudo and the Crab took an involuntary step back. “The Anvil of Despair!” the Crab hissed. “Do not touch it!”

Juneko turned to the two men. All traces of the fog that had clouded her face for the past hour were gone. “We must take this to Asahina Sekawa,” she said firmly. “The Jade Champion will know what must be done.”

“No,” the Crab said. “You are no longer in control of this situation. These are the Crab lands. We will deal with this ourselves. We will leave this here and let the rains finish what should have been done long ago.”

“The Crab cannot be trusted with this,” Juneko said. “Only the Jade Champion.”

“You dare?” the Crab snarled, but then his face took on a confused look. He glanced at Gyukudo with a questioning expression as a thin line of blood ran from between his lips. He fell to the ground dead, an arrow jutting from his back.

“Move!” Gyukudo shouted, shoving Juneko down behind the rocks and loosening his bow from his back in a fluid motion. A second arrow clattered among the stones at his feet, but he neatly avoided it and began firing arrows in the direction from which the attack had come. He heard a strangled cry of pain from the fourth shot, then the echoing sound of footsteps as someone fled from the wall above the chasm. “Juneko!” he shouted.

“Go!” she shouted back. “I will protect the Anvil! Go now!”

Gyukudo looked at her uncertainly. “My magic is stronger than you think, Shiba,” she said, glaring at him. “I will be fine here. Do not let our enemy escape.”

Gyukudo nodded and began running. Even wounded, his prey would gain a considerable head start in the time it would take him to backtrack to a point where he could scale the chasm wall. He could only hope that there was a blood trail to follow.

The assailant lay on the rocks, the arrow jutting at a terrible angle from his chest. His blade had fallen away, and lay on the rocks beside him. A long bundle wrapped in silk lay discarded nearby. Gyukudo stood several paces away, his bow held at the ready. The stranger lifted his head with great effort and looked at the Phoenix warrior, laughing as he did. The effort caused blood to spill from his lips, and he grimaced at the pain before laying down once more. “Your first shot was true, my friend. No need for another.”

“You still live,” Gyukudo said darkly.

“Patience,” the stranger said with another wet laugh.

“Who are you?” Gyukudo demanded. “Why did you attack us?”

“I had no choice,” the man answered hoarsely.

“Who are you?” the Phoenix repeated.

“I am Tsi Shodu,” the stranger replied. “And I sought to reclaim that which you and the woman found.”

“The Anvil,” Gyukudo said with a curse. The damnable thing had brought them suffering already. “It’s yours, then?”

“The Anvil belongs to only one man,” Shodu replied. “It remained with me for a time, but only because I gave it that which it desired. When I was done, others came and took it, but they came too soon. I lived, and when I healed I sought the cursed thing again.”

“Why?” Gyukudo demanded.

“Because I had no choice,” Shodu said. “It holds sway over me. It hangs in my mind like a thick, choking cloud.” He shifted where he lay to get a better look at the Phoenix, wincing in obvious agony as he did so. “Leave it, if you can, Phoenix. If it is not too late, then leave it.”

Gyukudo shook his head. “We cannot leave such a dangerous thing here, where it could be easily found and abused.”

“That is how it begins!” Shodu said desperately. “When you believe you are the only one who can protect it, you are already its pawn!” He regarded the other man for a moment. “So be it. I do not know why I fight to save the life of the man who killed me. End my pain, Phoenix. If you would take my curse, so be it, but let me rest at last.”

Gyukudo drew back, surprised by the request. “No,” he said. “Tell me what you know about the Anvil.”

Shodu nodded, his brow furrowing in concentration. “I was once a Bloodspeaker, one of Iuchiban’s servants. I lusted after power because I longed to destroy my father. He was a smith, one of Rokugan’s most gifted, and though I shared his talents, he favored his duty over me. We rarely spoke, only when taught me our family’s craft so that his legacy would not die with him. My affection turned to disappointment, disappointment to frustration, and in time, frustration into hatred. I longed to destroy him, and so I became a Bloodspeaker, hoping for the power I needed to finally gain his attention – as I destroyed him.”

“You are a sad and twisted man,” Gyukudo said with a sneer.

“Perhaps,” Shodu replied. “In time, my allegiance was discovered, and I fled. I found my way into these mountains years ago, and into a great crevasse that was on no map. Something within it called to me, and in time, I found the Anvil.” The dying man sighed. It was a sound filled both with rapture and regret. “Such beautiful pictures shaped in my mind. Such things I could create. I made all manner of foul items. In time, though, I made this.” He gestured to the wrapped bundle at his side. “It was made to kill my father. I poured all my hatred, my anger, and my loathing into it. I fed it everything evil in my soul, but it wanted more.”

Gyukudo’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

“My hatred has always made me strong,” Shodu whispered. “The blade drank my hatred, my anger, leaving me with nothing but guilt. I am a shadow of the man I once was. As much as you may hate me, Phoenix. I hate myself more.”

The Phoenix looked cautiously at the bundle. “If what you say is true, I find it difficult to pity you, Bloodspeaker.”

The pain had vanished from Shodu’s eyes, replaced with sadness so sharp that Gyukudo felt a momentary wave of sympathy for the dying man. “I was a skilled craftsman once. I could have done so much good,” he said in a cracking voice. “I could have been so much more, but I wasn’t strong enough… I will die soon, Phoenix, but I destroyed myself long ago.”

“If you hate this blade so much, why not destroy it?” Gyukudo asked.

“If such things can be destroyed, I do not know how.” He slumped back down, exhausted from the tale. “I have nothing left for you, Phoenix. End my pain now, please.”

Gyukudo nodded and stood. He drew his bow, hesitating for only a moment as he contemplated whether there was any way to spare the man’s life without allowing the threat he represented to continue. In the end, there was only one answer, and a single arrow resolved it.

The Phoenix knelt and regarded the wrapped bundle carefully. The Crab had been wrong about the Anvil – it could not be abandoned. Someone would find it; such things had a way of happening. The same would hold true for this accursed sword. Someone must bear it.

After several minutes spent staring at the bundle, Gyukudo picked it up and turned back in the direction he had left Juneko and the Anvil.

Shinden Asahina, two months ago…

The Asahina ancestral home was a place of tranquility and serenity. It was among the largest temples in all of Rokugan. Thousands of worshipers made the pilgrimage to visit the temple each year. So many eyes made it difficult to transport things in and out temple without being seen, but fortunately so many were intent upon their own dealings that it was possible.

Asahina Sekawa surveyed the room that had been secured. It was beneath the temple’s main floor, used primarily for storage and rarely visited for any reason. Powerful spells would keep the doors hidden from casual observation and the contents warded from any detection. None had any reason to venture here. No Bloodspeaker would ever find this place.

In the center of the otherwise empty room, a Anvil of Despair rested. Even in the light of so many lanterns, the thing seemed wreathed in shadow, as if it hungrily devoured all light. It had other hungers as well, and Sekawa could sense them whispering at the edges of his consciousness, like feathers tickling a sleeping man. If the evil hoped to find purchase in his mind, however, it would be grossly disappointed. He had resisted greater evils than this.

The Jade Champion turned to Asahina Juneko and her Phoenix comrade. “Did you speak to anyone of this? Did any see what you bore?”

“No one, my lord,” Juneko answered at once. “We took lesser traveled roads and avoided any settlements. There were none who saw it.”

“Then to the eyes of outsiders, you abandoned your duties as an Imperial Cartographer without reason,” Sekawa observed. “There will be questions.”

“It is no matter,” Juneko said in a quiet voice. “I am not regarded well in the courts. I think many will enjoy the opportunity to shame and humiliate me, and will never wonder if there was a greater reason for my actions.”

Sekawa frowned. “You have sacrificed your name and honor to redeem our family’s greatest sin,” he said. “I will do what I can to minimize your shame.”

“Do nothing, my lord,” she said. “I do not wish there to be any questions.”

Sekawa nodded grimly and turned to the Phoenix. “And what of you?” he asked. “Your loyalties are not to me, and yet I find you in possession of knowledge that could harm many. What am I to do with you?”

The Phoenix looked at Sekawa gravely. “My lord, I know the danger. I will accept any judgment you deem fitting.”

Sekawa looked at Gyukudo calmly, his pale blue eyes unflinching. “Gyukudo, do you believe I would kill you merely to keep this secret?”

The Phoenix said nothing.

“Such a horrible act is the same evil that caused the Anvil to be born long ago,” Sekawa said. “I do not wish your life, Phoenix. Only your oath.”

“Then you have it,” the Phoenix said, bowing deeply.

Sekawa nodded in approval. “You are a virtuous man, Shiba Gyukudo. That much is obvious. Unfortunately, the fate of virtuous men is often an unpleasant one. Hold tightly to your honor, for in the end it is the only weapon we have.”

Gyukudo could say nothing, and only nodded.