A dank tomb, six months ago

The dim light of the torches flickered with the breeze as the door at the corridor’s end opened and closed quickly. The faint stirring of air was refreshing, for it was the only change that the prisoner had known in a very long time. There were footsteps, and then a sense of someone standing near. The prisoner did not bother to look up. There was only one person who came here, only one person who even knew that he was here.

“Good morning,” the familiar voice said. There was the sound of something being placed on the floor, sliding across the smooth stone. The smell of rice smeared with fish paste, another all-too-familiar sensation, filled his small quarters. Once, it had been his favorite dish. After so long in this wretched place, he loathed the taste of it.

“Nothing to say?” his captor asked. “No attempts to convince me of my mistake? To remind me of our long history together?”

“Why bother?” the prisoner said glumly. “Your response is always the same.”

“That is unfortunately true,” the captor said, a hint of remorse in his voice.

“Everything that I remember, every single memory,” the prisoner said, “you believe is a lie. A forgery.”

“It is,” the captor said. “You did not exist until a short time ago. You are blessed to share the memories of a great man. It is cruel that you have no choice but to believe you are him, but it only makes you all the more dangerous. I have already explained the curse that shadows your existence. I would prevent that curse from coming to fruition.”

“If I am so dangerous, then why do you continue to see me each day?” The prisoner finally lifted his head. A rough beard masked his blunt features. “Am I not a threat? Why not kill me?”

The old man stood for a very long time, regarding the prisoner with a strange expression. When he finally began to speak again, it was with a heavy sigh. “I believe all souls have a chance for redemption,” the man said. “To believe otherwise would deny everything my family stands for. Despite your accursed origins, I maintain hope for you, Tamago.”

The prisoner looked at his captor intently. “And Nimuro?” he asked. “What does he think of me? He has never come here, never visited his duplicate. Do you not find that strange?”

The captor’s face grew grave. “Nimuro is dead,” he said. “The Lion Champion perished in battle months ago, slain by Moto Chagatai.”

The prisoner’s face grew pale. Something died behind his eyes, a sense of hope long maintained… and now it was gone.

“Who is the Lion Champion now?” he asked hoarsely.

“Ikoma Otemi, nephew of Ikoma Sume,” Juri replied.

The prisoner’s lip curled into a faint grin. Some hope was renewed in his shadowed eyes. He nodded soberly as he absorbed the news then looked up, his steely gaze meeting that of Kitsu Juri. “Would you make any sacrifice for the Lion?” the man called Tamago asked quietly. “Would you give anything to end the threats that the Lion face?”

“I would,” Juri said without hesitation. “I have given so much already… two of my daughters are dead…” his voice trailed off for a moment before he seemed to shake himself and regain his composure. “But I would give more. Everything.”

The prisoner nodded, then placed his head back on his folded arms, seemingly exhausted. “Then you must kill me,” he said. “So none will know the mistake that Nimuro made. The Lion cannot appear weak, especially now if we have lost our war with the Unicorn. I forgive you, as I hope you forgive me.”

The old shugenja opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it and only nodded. He took a step closer to the bars that contained the chained prisoner and lifted one hand, lowering his head in prayer. He quietly began the incantation that would invite the kami to take the prisoner’s life, undoing the spell that had drawn him from that ancient, cursed artifact - the Egg of Pan Ku.

The prisoner moved with the speed of a great cat. He darted to the bars, the chains that had bound him from reaching them for so long now broken from months of filing and scratching for hours upon hours every day. The prisoner quickly slung the chain attached to his wrist through the bars and around the unsuspecting shugenja’s neck. With a massive heave, he brought the old man crashing into the bars and quickly cut off his air by tightening the chain. The old man gasped for breath, but could not gather the strength to speak or to even breath. He looked at the prisoner with wide, surprised eyes.

“You are a fool, Juri,” Nimuro said in a rough whisper. “You believed I was a monster, and you were right. But you made me so, when you believed that a shadow was me. Now suffer for what you have done to my clan.”

Juri’s eyes widened. At last, he realized the truth. This was not Tamago, but the true Matsu Nimuro. He had destroyed his lord’s life – and now he paid the price.

A moment later, the old man fell to the floor, dead. Nimuro reached through the bars and began searching for the key that would unlock the cell he had called home for nearly a year. Escaping the Kitsu Tombs would be difficult, particularly with the manacles still attached to his wrists. Nimuro only hoped no other Lion attempted to bar his path.

For a moment, the former Lion Champion stopped, holding the keys in his hand absently. He had just killed one of his most trusted servants. If Juri’s words were to be believed, then the clan believed he was dead. His mother, his wife, and his sons… all had mourned him and moved on. Otemi was Champion now. He could not return to the life he had led before. Such a thing would only cause chaos.

No. He had failed. Using the Egg to duplicate himself had been a foolish, arrogant gesture. He had hoped it would bring him victory over the Unicorn but it had ultimately brought only failure. He deserved his current state. He was the Golden Lion no longer. By all rights, he should flee into the wilderness and take his own life where the body would not be found, and no questions would be asked.

No. Such an act would be selfish. A samurai took his own life only to cleanse his family’s shame. His family already believed him dead. Matsu Nimuro was dead. What path remained for him? The path of a ronin, with no allies or clan to call upon. It would be dangerous, but the Golden Lion did not shy from danger.

Matsu Nimuro was dead. A deadly man named Tamago freed himself of his chains and began the dangerous task of escaping the Kitsu Tombs.

The western Lion provinces, two months ago… The massive ronin strode into the tiny teahouse, and silence fell over the assembled peasants. They stared at him in a mixture of wonder and fear, then scattered in every direction, hurriedly going about their normal routines. Tamago crossed the small room, honestly it was more of a large house made to look like a teahouse than anything else, and took a seat at one of three tables. A short, portly man approached with a self-effacing smile and asked what he would like.

“Sake,” Tamago said.

The little man bowed deeply. “Forgive me, sama, but we have no sake. We sold our very last bottle three days ago and are not expecting to receive any more for at least a week.”

“I see,” the ronin looked at the man grimly.

It was an obvious lie, of course. Many villages feared ronin even as they hated them, and would do whatever they could to encourage them to leave. “Green tea, then.”

The man offered a sad smile and started to make another excuse.

“Green tea,” Tamago repeated, his gaze indicating that he was not interested. “I’m thirsty.”

The little man hesitated only for a moment, meeting Tamago’s iron gaze briefly before acquiescing with a bow. “The finest in all of Lion lands, my lord. One moment.”

The village was as he had expected. There was none of the normal chatter that such a place normally held, and he suspected he was not the cause. His brief time as a ronin had given him a sense for it. His presence brought fear, and peasants would grow silent, watching him, then resume their lives as normal when he was gone. He had no sense of that. This place was quiet, almost dead. Something else was going on, beyond what could be seen by a casual observer. Fortunately, Tamago was anything but a casual observer.

“Here you are, my lord,” the man said, returning with a tray bearing a small pot and a cup. “I hope you find it to your liking.”

“I am certain that I will,” Tamago said, offering the man a generous handful of small copper coins. “I have but one other request, and I hope you will be as accommodating.”

“Of course,” the little man said, his eyes gleaming as he gathered up the money.

“I’m looking for a woman.”

“We don’t have any establishments of that nature in this village,” the man said with an almost apologetic tone. “If you travel up the road a day, however, you’ll find a larger village with numerous…”

“You misunderstand. I’m looking for a specific woman,” Tamago said. “Where is she?”

The man froze, his hand in the midst of gathering up coins. “I… I don’t know who you mean, sama.”

Tamago leaned forward and gripped the man by the wrist. “You know who I mean,” he said tersely. “Where is Utagawa?”

Unbelievably, there was a flash of defiance in the man’s eyes. “Kill me if you want,” he whispered hoarsely, “but I won’t tell you, assassin.”

Tamago’s face twisted in a smile. “If I wanted to threaten her, little man, I wouldn’t have bothered to pay you. I would have come in, taken one of your children, and put my steel to her throat.” Now the defiance was replaced with fear. “But I did not do that. Now, you are going to answer my question.” He leaned in close and whispered, for the third time. “Where is she?”

The little man licked his lips, all pretence of courage gone. “She has a small house on the western side of the village,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s been vacant for months, and she merely… claimed it.”

“Thank you for the tea,” Tamago said, draining his cup and rising. “I’m sure we’ll talk again.”

The house in which Utagawa dwelled was little more than a hut, just like all the other crude dwellings in the village. Tamago did not hesitate, but swept the door open and stepped into the dim light. In the second it took his eyes to adjust, he caught a glint of light from his left. Instinct took over and he brought his blade up, instantly feeling the force of an averted blow the ring of steel on steel as he parried the strike. There were others, but he turned each aside, waiting for an opportunity. Finally, there was a brief pause, and he made a sharp, swift strike with his open hand. He hit someone’s wrist, felt a slight hiss of pain, and the sound of steel clattering on the ground.

“Enough of that,” he said gruffly.

A small form retreated from him in the darkness, and he heard the sound of a second blade being drawn. As the figure stepped into the light, he could see that she was a small woman, holding her wakizashi in a ready stance.

“You will not be the first assassin I have slain,” she said in a quiet, calm voice. “If the Fortunes favor me, however, perhaps you will be the last.”

“Not first, last, or any,” Tamago said, lowering his blade. “I am no assassin. I am not here to harm you.”

The woman did not alter her stance. She looked at him patiently, ready for his attack.

“Look at me, woman,” Tamago said irritably. “You are supposed to be a skilled duelist. You are gifted, of that there is no doubt. I can tell that much from your stance. But you have seen mine as well. Do you have any doubt that I could have killed you if I wished?”

Utagawa stared at him for a long moment, then lowered her blade. “You practice a Lion style,” she said. “Matsu, from the look of it. Where would a ronin learn such things? Lion become Deathseekers, not ronin.”

“Lion become Deathseekers to save their family’s honor,” Tamago said flatly. “That is not my path. But my past is not your concern. You and those that follow you are in grave danger.”

“Always,” Utagawa said with an exasperated tone. “The Empire is a dangerous place for those who serve no lord.”

“I refer to a danger of a more specific nature,” Tamago said, sheathing his blade. “The Lion know of what you are doing here. They know of your plans, and they will not allow them to be carried out. A legion is on its way here as we speak. The scouts should arrive in less than two days, the bulk of their forces less than a day behind them.”

To her credit, Utagawa’s expression did not change. “They will never let others place the burden of the Lion’s mistakes on their own shoulders. They will make the people of this village, and countless others, suffer to maintain the illusion of their honor.”

Tamago struggled to keep the irritation from his face. “How do you mean?”

“The war,” Utagawa explained. “So many died, and for what? For the pride of Lion and Unicorn? The Lion knew that the Unicorn attack was imminent, and they chose not to defend the city properly. They chose not to do so because Matsu Nimuro longed to prove himself against the Khan, and in doing so he not only lost the lives of thousands of his men, but even more innocent villagers and citizens.” She shook her head in disgust. “That he died in the final battle is little consolation to the dead.”

A wry smile flickered across Tamago’s features. “You hold Nimuro in low regard. As do I.”

“Held,” she corrected, “and those who suffered because of him deserve to know the truth. All I have done in this village is share the truth with these people.”

“You did share the truth,” he agreed, “and now you’ve encouraged them to depart the Lion lands for the Dragon provinces to the north. You suborn mutiny among those whom the Lion protect.”

“Protection?” For the first time, he saw true emotion in Utagawa’s face. “Sacrificing innocent lives for pride is not protection. It is abuse of the lowest form. It is a perversion of the duties the clans have supposedly fulfilled in the Emperor’s name for over a thousand years.”

Tamago watched her, watched the intensity that twisted her features. “Why do you hate them all so?” he finally asked.

“I have wandered the Empire for years,” she said quietly. “I seek something that is forever beyond my reach. And in the process, I have witnessed the horrors that the so-called Great Clans have visited upon those beneath them.” She gestured to the village outside the small home. “These people have no one to speak for them. There is no one to tell them the truth, or to speak to them of protecting their lives and families.”

“That is the order of things for the great to rule the small,” Tamago said. “Such is the Celestial Order.”

“It is a perversion of the Order,” Utagawa said. “These people recognize the true Celestial Order. They revere the Fortunes, and they are blessed in return. They are devout in their reverence for Inari, Ebisu, and a dozen others. It is the men who rule them who have forgotten their promise to the Order.”

“What you are saying,” Tamago said, “is both blasphemous and treasonous.”

“Blasphemy is everywhere,” she answered. “At least my blasphemy does not murder innocents.”

Tamago sighed, his shoulders suddenly sagging. “Things are not as simple as you say, Utagawa,” he said. “The Great Clans do not seek to punish those they rule. The Clan Champions do not want their people to suffer. War brings ruin to us all, great and small.”

“You know nothing of the Clan Champions,” she said, scoffing at the idea.

“You might be surprised,” he answered. “But you are right in that sometimes mistakes happen, and the innocent suffer. So it falls to those with the freedom to act to correct such mistakes. It falls to us.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

“I am a man who knows that the Lion are coming,” Tamago replied. “And that you and yours will die if we stay. Nothing else matters.”

“We cannot leave,” Utagawa shook her head. “If we run, the Lion will punish the villagers for protecting me.”

“No they won’t,” he insisted. “Otemi will not slaughter peasants, especially now that he needs the support of his people. He is no tyrant. But make no mistake – these people will defend you, Utagawa. If Otemi’s soldiers find such open defiance, they will leave nothing but blackened earth. The only way for the village ot survive is to run”

“If I run,” Utagawa answered, “they will hunt me.”

“Let them,” Tamago replied.

“I wanted to help these people,” Utagawa said. “They will think I have abandoned them.”

“They will know,” Tamago said. “They will know the truth, as you said, and they will know that there are people like you. People that bring them hope for change.”

“Little hope I can bring them,” she said with a laugh. “I will be dead within a month, if I am fortunate. The Lion are not known to abandon grudges.”

“Then travel with me,” Tamago said. “I know Otemi and I know his strategies. We will be safe enough.”

Utagawa looked him for a long time. “Who are you?” she asked. “What is it you want? Why are you here?”

“I am Tamago,” he answered. “I have much for which to atone.” He gestured toward the door. “Will you travel a while with me?”

Utagawa nodded. She retrieved her blade and a rough sack of meager belongings. “Let us see what destiny awaits us,” she said.