By Nancy Sauer
Edited by Fred Wan
Kuni Umibe sat back on his heels and suppressed a sigh. However hard it had been to clear the circle and inscribe the wards around it, he reminded himself sternly, it was trivial compared to what was going to come next. He would not allow himself any show of weakness now. He rose, shook the worst of the dust from his kimono and walked back to the center of the circle. It was small, no larger than a peasant’s vegetable garden, but it was the largest he dared.
Around him stretched the bleak wilderness of the Hiruma lands. Hundred of years ago the forces of the Shadowlands had claimed these lands and those of the Kuni family. The Crab had retaken the Kuni lands quickly, and the shugenja of the Kuni family had used their skill in Earth magics to blast their lands free of the Taint, leaving it a spiritually dead wasteland. A generation ago the Hiruma lands had been retaken, and the Kuni had begun the process to blast those lands clean as well. And now, they were about to do more.
Umibe knelt down in the center of the circle and leaned forward to lay his hands on the ground. Normally he would be able to hear the silent speech of the kami: earth mostly, with the other elements balanced in a harmonious mix. But here there was nothing but dead silence. Umibe grimaced and then began to chant. At first there was no effect, but as he went on he began to feel pain. It was like the warm throbbing that followed steel parting flesh, but it came from his whole body, and not a part of it. The pain grew until Umibe shook with it and his fingers clawed into the earth to keep his focus but he did not stop his chanting. Abruptly the pain flowered into coldness, and the Kuni slumped forward as his mind scrabbled after the words he needed to say. One after another he pulled them out, each word leaving him a little colder and a little emptier. His numb fingers could barely feel the clods of earth they were clutching, and he had no idea what had happened to his feet, but Umibe pushed forward.
The numbness had spread up to his arms and his vision had gone dark by the time he finished. Umibe lay gasping on his side. Eventually his strength–at least, most of it–would return to him, but for now he felt as weak as a young child. He listened, and the ground below him whispered with faint tendrils of curiosity as the kami investigated this patch of land that had suddenly appeared to their senses. Umibe grinned fiercely. He was a damaged man now, lessened by the amount of soul he had poured into this land, but it would live now. He closed his eyes and and felt Lord Sun’s radiance warm him. It was a small, fragile victory, but it was enough.
He lay there basking in sunlight and victory until the approach of an unfamiliar sound brought him back to the present. He opened his eyes and looked up. And up. And up. Towering over him was something that from the hips up looked like a dark-haired, greenish-skinned man holding a large, golden pearl. From the hips down it looked like the biggest snake Umibe had ever seen. He gawked shamelessly, stunned by his first sight of one of the legendary Naga.
The two of them stared at each other, and then the Naga politely lowered himself to the ground, putting his head at the same height as Umibe’s. “I am the Zamalesh,” it announced. “Are you one of the hu-mans known as the Kuni?”
Umibe nodded. Then remembering that the gesture probably meant nothing to a Naga he spoke. “Yes, I am Umibe, of the Kuni family. What are you doing here?”
The Naga held out the pearl he carried, close enough to Umibe that the shugenja could see swirls of green forming and disappearing in its golden depths. “I hunt the Jerish,” he said.
Hida Fubatsu knelt formally before the Hiruma daimyo. He laid a scroll tied with dark blue and gray ribbons down on his left and then and bowed down to touch his forehead to the floor. “Lord Hiruma,” he said solemnly, “I present my petition to be admitted to the Hiruma School for training.”
“No,” Hiruma Todori said.
Fubatsu slammed his right hand down on the floor and sat up. “Why not?” he demanded. “My great-grandfather was a Hiruma! My father marched into the Shadowlands with Lord Yakamo to retake Shiro Hiruma! Why should I not train here?”
“Find me someone in this clan who doesn’t have a Hiruma ancestor, or a kinsman who helped reclaim Shiro Hiruma.” Todori waved towards a corner of the room he used as an office, indicating several large baskets filed with scrolls tied with some ribbons in some combination of dark blue, gray, or red. “Since we found the school scrolls I’ve been flooded with petitions to train in the Hiruma school. And we don’t even have a dojo built yet!”
“Todori-sama,” Fubatsu said, “I can see how this would be a problem, but you have seen me in combat. You must know that I would bring glory to your school.”
“I have seen you,” Todori said. “Yagimaki said that I wouldn’t regret having you here, and he was right. Until today.” Before the younger man could react he leaned forward and glared at the Hida. “You say that you would bring glory to my school. How could I believe that, knowing how quick you are to abandon your first school? If you are a good bushi now it is because your Hida sensei have made you one–yet you would toss their teachings aside like so much trash. Is this how honor your father? Your great-grandfather?”
“No!” Fubatsu said. “Todori-sama, it isn’t that!” He was quiet for a moment. “It is me, Todori-sama. There is no lack in the Hida school, and there are no finer teachers than my sensei. The lack is in me, not them. I am searching for something, and I don’t know what it is.”
“Whatever it is,” Todori said, “you will not find it here.” His voice had the flat ring of finality.
Fubatsu bowed sadly and left. He walked rapidly through the halls of the castle and was almost to the courtyard when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He was tempted to ignore it–Hiruma Aya had been admitted to the school that he was denied–but that would be petty. He stopped and waited for her to catch up with him.
“Finally,” she said. “Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get your attention?”
“You should have run,” Fubatsu said.
“Indoors? That’s rude.” She made a dismissive gesture. “Are you on duty?”
“No,” Fubatsu said. “And I’m not interested in company.”
She gave him an appraising look. “I was thinking that you were going to talk to Todori today. Come with me, all is prepared.”
“I want to be alone,” he said, and turned to walk away.
Aya took two quick steps and planted herself in his way. “These are Crab lands now, but we are still surrounded by the Shadowlands. Do you think you’re going to go off to sulk alone and be kansen-bait?” She shook her head. “Tama’s getting the drink. Don’t make me make you cooperate.”
Fubatsu’s mood lightened a little. “That’s some threat.”
“I thought so as well.” She spun on her heel and started walking. “This way.”
Hiruma Tama had secured a room that bordered one of the castle’s inner courtyards. Fubatsu looked out on the elegant, austere stone garden it held and felt a little of his tension bleed out of him. He chose a spot that allowed him to see the garden and sat down.
“Imo Hana Mura Five Star,” Tama said as she unstopped a bottle. She took a swig, then handed the bottle to Aya. Aya took a small sip and began to choke and gasp. “You were supposed to get shochu, not lacquer remover,” she said. She handed the bottle on to Fubatsu, who cautiously took a drink. It had a harsh edge and burned all the way down. He took a second, longer drink and passed the bottle back to Tama.
“How many bottles did you bring?” he asked.
“Two,” Tama said.
“That won’t be enough,” he said.
“Sure it will be,” she said. She took a drink. “Aya’s a cheap drunk. One drink she’s under the table, two drinks and she’s under–”
“Since I am not yet drunk,” Aya said with dignity, “I am quite capable of smashing in your face.” She took another cautious sip.
Tama laughed and turned to Fubatsu. “You should have been there at the Spicy Carp, the time she and Kojima….” Her voice trailed off.
“Kojima?” Fubatsu said, confused. The name meant nothing to him.
“Daidoji Kojima,” Aya said. She took a long drink from the bottle.
“Aya,” Tama said after a moment, “you don’t have to go to the Yasuki Provinces. We always need bushi here; you could petition your lord to stay.”
Aya took another long drink. “My lord has ordered me to join his forces at war with the Crane. It is not my place to question his judgement.” The slurring from the shochu did not quite hide the brittleness of her tone.
“Give me the bottle,” Fubatsu said. Aya handed it to him silently. He took a drink and then passed it on to Tama. “I heard that there is a Kuni and a Naga wandering around,” he said.
Tama looked grateful for the change of topic. “I saw them this morning,” she said. “They were in the kitchens. Umibe was going on and on about how none of the cooks could be a Jerish, the Naga was shoving this giant pearl in their faces and the cooks looked like they were ready to fall over in terror of the two of them. I feared for our lunch.” She took a drink and passed the bottle on.
“So that’s why the rice was so bad,,” Aya said thoughtfully. She handed the bottle on to Fubatsu.
“Shugenja business,” he said. He took a drink. “Give me something I can hit; that’s all I have to say.” The two Hiruma nodded in agreement, and the conversation passed on to other things.
Umibe was at his wit’s end. He had spent the day following Zamalesh around as the Naga continued his hunt and trying to mend the disruption that trailed behind behind him. Now evening was coming on, and the Kuni was desperately afraid that Zamalesh would somehow figure out that dinner was prepared by a different shift of cooks. He was about to suggest that they stop for the day when Zamalesh gave a loud hiss and abruptly sped up. Before Umibe could form a question the Naga had made a turn and disappeared down a connecting hallway. The Kuni cursed all Naga and sprinted after him.
He ran down one corridor, paused to get his bearings, and then headed in the direction where he could hear voices. Umibe rounded a corner and found Zamalesh. The Naga was not alone: he appeared to have backed a Hida into a wall, and there were two confused Hiruma women appraising the situation. One of them caught sight of Umibe and bowed. “Kuni-sama,” she said, “is this a problem?” She waved towards the Naga.
“It’s a problem!” shouted the Hida from behind the Naga’s bulk.
“Umibe-Kuni,” Zamalesh said, “I have found the Jerish.”
“Really?” Umibe said. “Are you sure?”
The Naga turned around and held up the pearl he carried. It was now a bright, lustrous green, the green of fresh growing things. Umibe stared at it. “Hida-san,” he said slowly, “you need to come with us.”
“Fubatsu is the Jerish?” Todori said. He looked from the Hida to the Kuni to the Naga and back again.
“Yessss,” said the Zamalesh, looking pleased with himself.
“What is a Jerish?” Fubatsu asked.
“The Jerish was the terror of the Ashalan” the Zamalesh said. “He slew many in single combat, rallying the armies he led.”
“The Jerish was one of the great warriors of the Naga,” Umibe said. “He entered the first Great Sleep years ago, but died when the city of Nirukti was destroyed at the command of the eleventh Hantei.”
“But what does that have to do with me?” Fubatsu said.
“You are the Jerish,” the Zamalesh said.
“That is, you have his soul,” Umibe said.
“That’s impossible,” Fubatsu said.
“Why?” Umibe said. “We all go around the Wheel. Before today you wouldn’t have known if you were previously an eta, or a worm.”
Fubatsu flinched from the idea he had once been an eta. “But the Naga don’t reincarnate as people,” he objected. “They have that Akasha thing.”
“The Jerish is missing from the Akasha,” Zamalesh said. “The Qolsa has spent many hours in study and meditation to determine what had happened to him. He has determined that he, and perhaps others, have been reborn as hu-mans.”
“So you found him,” Todori said. “Now what?”
“The Jerish must return to the Shinomen Forest,” Zamalesh said. “He is needed to help in guarding those who sleep. The Unicorn will not send more guards, and the Nezumi are gone. Also, the Qolsa will wish to study him.”
“Of course,” Todori said. He saw the look of outrage that Fubatsu gave him and ignored it. “Umibe, I want you to draft a report to Kuon-sama about this. Zamalesh-san, I would appreciate it if you were to go and help Umibe.”
“Yes, Hiruma-sama,” Umibe said. Zamalesh simply gave a bow and followed the Kuni out.
“Shinomen Forest!” Fubatsu exploded as soon as they had left.
“Yes,” Todori said calmly.
“But the Wall! The Yasuki War! And you are going to send me to a forest in the middle of nowhere?”
“The Shinomen is in the middle of everywhere,” Todori said. “You will go and help the Naga protect their forest. And while you are at it, you are going to make note of what troop movements the Unicorn and the Scorpion have going on in the vicinity, and send word to us of anything especially interesting.”
Fubatsu was silent. Put that way, it made perfect sense. “Todori-sama, if I do well at this could I be admitted to the Hiruma school?”
“No,” Todori said. “Start packing your things; judging from his behavior this morning Zamalesh will want to leave while the ink is still drying on Umibe’s report.”
Fubatsu bowed and left Todori’s office. Out in the corridor he stopped and took a deep breath, trying to absorb what had just happened to him. He’d been told he had the soul of a Naga. That was weird, but his soul had to have been something before this life, and there were surely worse things to be than a Naga hero. Then he’d been told that he was being sent to a vast, mysterious and lethal forest to help an ancient and alien people guard themselves against intruders. And keep an eye on one clan that had once been a friend and another that had once been an enemy, just in case. Fubatsu found himself breaking into a smile. It was the challenge of a lifetime and maybe, just maybe, the one he’d been looking for. He started towards his room to gather his things.