By Rusty Priske
Edited by Fred Wan
The House of Opportunities had a grandiose name, but did nothing to live up to it. It sat nestled in a corner of Kyakuchu Mura, a distance from the establishment preferred by the few Imperial soldiers who trained in the village. Its sign was weathered and no one who entered wore a mon or clan colors.
Inside there were men and women scattered about. Some sat by themselves, and some in pairs, talking with hushed voices. The staff was kept busy as many drank their sake quickly; cheap as it was, it still served its purpose.
Around Kyakuchu Mura people had a different name for the House of Opportunities. They called it the House of Lost Opportunities.
The door flung open and a samurai, clearly marked as a Lion magistrate, entered. The difference between him and the rest of the patrons of the establishment could not be more apparent. His clothing was impeccable, smooth and clean. He wore his colors proudly and his hand subtly flicked near the swords at his side. A threat that would go unnoticed to all who were not trained in the art of the sword.
Those that recognized the threat did not react outwardly.
“All of you, I ask for your attention.” His voice was firm, but not overbearing. He paused, ensuring that all faces turned towards him. When he saw that one did not, he walked towards the offending party, without changing his expression. He stood, looking down at the man, clad in a brown kimono, devoid of any markings. The Lion took note of the sword at the ronin’s side and placed his hand on his own. “I asked for your attention.”
The ronin placed his cup on the table, beside his nearly empty sake bottle, and looked up. His face looked tired and he had clearly been drinking for some time, yet his eyes remained clear. He nodded towards the magistrate and gave him his attention.
The Lion moved away from the ronin, without allowing his gaze to lose track of him. If there was a threat in the room, that ronin was the likely source. “My name is Matsu Renjiro. I have been made the magistrate of Kyakuchu Mura, and therefore I am the magistrate for all of you. I am here to protect this village and I will do so. This is a peaceful village and I intend it to remain that way.” Renjiro scanned the room, looking for other swords. He found many.
“The House of Opportunities is not a shining example of what Kyakuchu Mura has to offer, but I plan to leave it untouched and unscathed. Why? Because I would prefer it if you would continue to confine your activities here, and to stay away from those who train to serve the Empire.” Renjiro scowled slightly at that as he looked at the House’s customers. “Be warned. If there are disputes of any type between any of you and those brave sons and daughters of Rokugan, it will not go well for you. So stay here and drink your ditchwater sake. Gamble or do whatever you wish to do within these walls, as long as it does not affect those outside of them. You have three options available to you, and three only.” Renjiro held up his fingers, one at a time, while counting out the options. “One: you can do as I have said and restrict yourselves to this establishment. Two: you can leave Kyakuchu Mura.”
Renjiro walked through the room, stopping at the ronin who had not met his gaze earlier. He stared down at him and said nothing for long moments. Finally, without breaking his gaze, he said, “Or you can pick the third option, which is to ignore my warnings. If you do that there will be one less patron for this place. Am I understood?”
The replies were mumbled, but apparently enough to satisfy the magistrate as he nodded, turned, and walked out the way he had arrived.
Shinjo Dun dismounted and led his horse to the small creek that meandered its way through the broken ground. He was still within land identified as Unicorn, but it would not be long until he had left Rokugan altogether. Water was not found easily through these wastelands, so though neither he nor his horse were tired, it was prudent to stop anyway. Dun went a few paces upstream from where his horse drank, to fill up his own skins.
The water was colder than one would expect. It must have been run-off from the mountains, where the ice melts as it reaches warmer climes. The mountains were not close, but they were close enough.
“Make sure you drink your fill, Ki-rin, as you will not see more water until you reach your destination.”
Dun leapt to his feet and drew his katana in one motion.
Standing on the other side of the creek, no more than ten feet from the end of Dun’s blade, was an old man. His dark skin marked him as being from the Burning Sands, Dun’s destination. He did not dress as the Unicorn would have expected, if he had expected anything at all. He was wearing a kimono of black, with no mon or other identifying mark. His clothes appeared freshly made, with no wear or dirt upon them.
“Who are you, old man, and where did you come from?”
The stranger smiled thinly. “I came from across the broken lands, and across the fiery sands. I am a stranger and a friend. I am a signpost that will lead you to your destination.”
“That is no answer. Give me your name.”
“It is all the answer you will get. My name is my own. I do not ask you yours.”
Dun scowled. “I do not hide who I am. I am Shinjo Dun, of Rokugan. I do not count strangers as friends. Give me your name or I will be forced to act.”
“Forced to act? You are acting already, are you not? Even inaction is action if you look at it a certain way. Traveling far from home to retrieve something that was lost; that is action, is it not?”
“You seem to know much, but share little. You almost sound like a Scorpion.”
The stranger smiled. “And if I was, would you trust me then? Would a Scorpion face allow you to stop your questions and listen to what I have to tell you?”
“Trust a Scorpion? I would trust you to do what is in your best interests. That does not mean it would be in mine.”
“You could say that about many men, I think. Still, I cannot claim any different. I do not work in your interests, but that does not mean I cannot help you. I know what you seek and I know where to find it.”
Dun’s eyes narrowed. “Give me proof. What is it that I seek?”
“That which was last wielded by Moto Gaheris. That which was thought lost forever.”
“And where is it?”
“Walk toward the evening sun. In three days, it will come to you.”
Dun adjusted his grip on his katana. “Come to me?”
The stranger smirked. “Is that too difficult? I have given you what you seek. No more questions.”
Dun glowered and then moved forward, stepping across the small creek. “You give me no name but demand that I trust your word?”
The stranger’s face twisted into a sneer. “I demand nothing. I do not serve you.”
Before Dun could take one more step, the stranger vanished, as if he had never existed at all.
“Magistrates.” The word dripped off the man’s tongue like a foul-tasting medicine.
The ronin who had been the focus of Renjiro’s interest turned at the sound. He saw the speaker, garbed similarly, but possibly a little more badly worn, as there were tattered threads emerging from his sleeves. He turned back to his sake.
The tattered ronin spoke again, loud enough to be heard by thee or four within earshot, but no more. “They think what they say matters. He couldn’t have done anything. His sword couldn’t beat all the blades in here.”
The first ronin spoke over his shoulder. “I did not see you standing up to him.”
“There was no point.” He stood from where he sat and moved closer to the first ronin’s table. “There was nothing in it for me. Can I sit?” Without waiting for an answer, he did so.
The first ronin eyed the newcomer. “I haven’t seen you before. Who are you?”
“My name is Kyuichi. I just arrived this morning.”
“I am Kana.”
Kyuichi nods his head. “I know. You are why I am here.”
Kana’s eyes narrowed. “You are looking for me? You need to tell me quickly why, or you will not leave here as comfortably as you entered.”
Kyuichi smiled mirthlessly. “You may find that harder than you think, but no need. I am not here to challenge you. As I said, I arrived in Kyakuchu Mura this morning. I am looking for work and I was told that you were the person to talk to.”
“I am not a farmer or a foreman. You should look for someone else.”
Kyuichi cocked his head. “That is not the sort of work I was talking about. Do I look like an ashigaru to you?” Kana raised his eyebrow and Kyuichi snarled. “I will forgive that insult in respect to the future work we will do together.”
“You presume a great deal, Kyuichi. You expect even more.”
“Perhaps I was told wrong. If you are not what I have heard, I can go ahead and find my own work in Kyakuchu Mura and you will say nothing about it.”
Kana poured the last of his sake bottle into his cup, offering none to Kyuichi. “That would not be advisable.”
“I thought not. So then why are we playing these games? I am here to work and earn. I’m sure you can always use another sword.”
“Can you use it? Did you steal it from a drunk samurai or have you actually been trained?”
Kyuichi’s face darkened. “I have been trained. I was not always ronin.”
Kana nodded. “Neither was I. I need to know, is history a problem? Do you have someone who would care if they saw you? A former sensei or master who would consider it a personal affront that you still live?”
Kyuichi stared stone-faced.
“If something comes up to interfere with my business because you slept with someone you shouldn’t have or stole from someone you shouldn’t have, you will wish you had never come here.”
“Understood.”
Kana looked at Kyuichi for a moment before waving for another bottle of sake, and an extra cup.
Shinjo Dun rode westward. It had been three days since his meeting with the stranger by the creek. He was still unsure about whether to trust the instructions he was given, but he had no other leads. He was wary as he rode and this was the day the stranger said would see his prize come to him.
He scanned the broken ground, as he had been doing for days, finding nothing.
Hours passed, and Dun grew angry at himself for traveling so far based on the word of a gaijin. His lies were becoming more apparent as his promises failed to materialize.
He pulled up his horse and decided to camp, and head back in the morning.
Dun looked at the horizon as Lord Sun came to rest upon it… and he saw something. Just at the horizon there was movement. It was a figure, completely obscured by the sun to its rear.
Dun quickly mounted his horse and galloped towards the figure. As he got closer, the sun continued its trek and day became dusk. When he was within hailing distance, Dun called out. “You there! I am Shinjo Dun! Who are you?”
The man, which Dun could now confirm it was, did not answer, but at Dun’s hail he fell to his knees. Dun continued his approach to find that the man was a tattered wretch. He looked Rokugani, but he was quite old, and his face was darkened by too much exposure to the sun. His hair was greasy and matted, as was everything about him. His garb was caked with grime and the deep wrinkles on his face looked as if they had not seen water in months at least. His cracked and dry lips looked as if they had not seen water in a while either. He carried no supplies but had something wrapped in ragged and dirty cloth strapped to his back.
Dun tossed his skin of water down to the old man and said, “Drink, old man. Then tell me who you are.”
The withered man drank greedily before looking up at the Unicorn astride his horse. When he spoke his voice was strained and cracked, like someone not used to speaking. He rasped out, “Shinjo? You are a Shinjo?”
Dun’s eyes narrowed. “I am. And you are…” Dun peered at the old man in the gloomy light. Through the filth he could make out that his kimono may have once been white. Where there should have been a mon there was a tear. Dun’s eyes flashed angrily. “You are a Moto! One of the lost Moto!”
“I was.” He rasped. “Now I am nobody.”
“Why should I not kill you where you lie, traitor?”
“You should, but please, not until I have finished.”
“Finished what?”
The old man looked up. “I was a Moto. I rode with Moto Tsume during his doomed incursion into the Shadowlands. I have seen the far reaches of the burning sands, yet cannot remember what the steppes of Rokugan look like. I was there when Tsume was Lost, as was I, as were far too many of our kin. Yet I was saved.”
“Saved? How?”
“While serving the Dark Moto, I came to possess a trinket of great power. It held a creature that was forced to do my will. When Fu Leng punished the Dark Moto for their failure, our strength left us, and most of us were finally freed to die. My duty, and my kharma in this life, had not yet been fulfilled. I ordered the creature to sustain me, and it has.”
“So you are twice a traitor.”
“I had to.” The Moto coughed. “I have carried a burden for a long time. I knew it had to return to Rokugan.”
Dun sneered. “That must have been many years ago. If it was so important that you return to Rokugan, why have you not done so before now?”
The wretch looked down, as if in shame. “I was afraid to die. I knew what returning to Rokugan would mean. I knew what I had done and I knew that my ancestors would not welcome me. Now my life is finished, despite my efforts, and I wish to complete one last task. I ordered the Jinn to ensure that my charge was delivered to a worthy successor.”
“Well, let’s see it.”
The Moto struggled to pull his load from his back. He then battled the knots until they finally relented. From beneath the rags he held aloft a sword, without a mark of age upon it. “It is…”
Dun reached down and took it from the Moto’s grasp while interrupting. “It is Kiro, the ancestral sword of the Ki-rin.”
The Moto nodded. He then whispered a word in a language Dun did not recognize and then said in Rokugani, “You are free.” Wind rushed past the two men and then all was still again.
Dun looked at the Moto. “Thank you for this, but I cannot forgive what the fallen Moto did.”
“I know. I am prepared to face my fate.”
Later, Dun carefully wrapped Kiro and started his trek back to Rokugan.
He traveled alone.
Kyuichi looked both ways before entering the small shop. Inside, a merchant displayed various fabrics, from various corners of Rokugan. None were very ornate or expensive, as this was only Kyakuchu Mura and not Toshi Ranbo or the like.
“May I help you?” The merchant’s voice was cold, as Kyuichi did not have the look of a man who was shopping for fabric.
“I have a message to be sent.”
“I am afraid you have the wrong place. I only sell fabric. I think you should try…” As the merchant was speaking, Kyuichi took a scroll from his obi and held it out for the proprietor to see. He saw a certain mark and stopped his protestations. He took the scroll from Kyuichi and nodded. “It will go out right away.”
“I am robbing you.”
The merchant sighed. “So be it. Should I report it or am I scared of repercussions?” He pulled a bag of coin from behind the counter.
“The latter, for now.” Kyuichi took the coin and moved back to the door. “You will be compensated.”
“Of course. Service is its own reward.”
Kyuichi departed and the merchant sighed again. He knew it unlikely that he would be compensated directly, but the Shosuro paid well for his services. He had no reason to complain.