General Masuro

 

             "Master," said the samurai kneeling just outside the crack of the doorway. He slid the partition partway open. On his knees he shuffled into the room's dark threshold. Save for the chonmage topknot, the crown of his head was clean-shaven. He wore a grey kimono, long and short katanas at his belt.

            "The one you sent for has arrived," he said, bowing moderately.

            "Are you certain this time?"

            "At first we disregarded him a destitute ronin, but the appearance you described matches, and his katanas are doragon-steel."

            "Allow him entry, unaccompanied. And be sure to apologize for your failure of acumen."

            "Yes master, of course." With that the samurai shuffled back out the doorway and gently closed it. Outside the fusuma wall, his shadow unfolded and strode away, footsteps padding down the veranda's floorboards.

            The meeting room was small and drenched in shadow. Surely this night it was one of the darkest places in all of Shenobi, what with the inception of the festival. Across the room, on a wide platform raised a step above the floor, general Masuro sat cross-legged on a cushion. Muted illumination from faraway lanterns filtered through a slatted window, the light reaching across the floor's tatami mats in grey bars. Masuro's broad shoulders stooped, chin resting thoughtfully upon a burly fist. Now and then he absentmindedly stroked his short coal-black beard.

            The seclusion of this room, its lack of color and austerity, allowed Masuro to think clearer. The only decorations consisted of a simple arrangement of branches and flowers in a vase, and a painting encompassing the wall behind him; this depicting a giant phoenix locked in combat with a dragon, feathers and scales cinereal and jet-black in the gloom. On a rack between this wall and Masuro, his katana rested in its polished scabbard. If it was up to him, he would not wear armor at this hour; yet he would be called to ceremony before long, and had to be ready. To think, to truly think, it was best to feel nothing, to be as unfettered as a ray of moonlight in the shadows. And as Sword Arm of Shenobi, his thoughts centered upon one aim, his singular priority: to protect the realm at all costs.

            Ghost-quiet, a new silhouette, appeared outside the washi paper doorway.

            "Master," spoke the familiar voice. The man knelt by the doorway, slid it open, and entered the threshold on his knees as the samurai had before.

            "Stand, and walk to me," said Masuro, "so that I may see you are whole and well."

            The man rose, somewhat tall. He wore weathered traveling garb: a rain-blue haori robe, umber pants, and split-toed leather boots. His sable-dark hair was just long enough to tie a lock of it back. Though slender, his poise betokened the strength of a steppe-cat as he strode soundlessly across the room to stand at its center. The bars of half-light washed over his visage.

            The man knelt anew. "Master," he said, holding his short katana in its scabbard horizontally over both palms. Despite the man's youth, when performing his duties, there was a solemnity about him beyond his years, augmented by the angular cut of his sunburned, wind-lashed features. He set the blade on the ground in offering, extending his arms - still fitted with iron-studded leather bracers. He repeated the ceremonial token with the long katana, placing the crescent of one blade above the other.

            "I have completed the charge you entrusted me" He arched down until his brow touched the mat.

            "You need not bow so low," said Masuro. "At this moment, I am only glad to see that you are alive and well, Kenjin-san."

            The young man looked up, sitting in seiza fashion, his hands resting on his thighs.

            "My apologies for the confusion in your admittance," Masuro added. "With the assassinations in neighboring states, security of late has been tighter than a maiko girl's wrapped foot."

            "They didn't offend me. I'm accustomed to people not knowing who I am. After all, my position requires secrecy."

            "And maintaining this is more necessary than ever. Who can say how many spies have been planted in the city? Perhaps among our very ranks? None must learn of your comings and goings." Masuro studied Kenjin. "But you certainly look the part of a wandering woodsman, neh. How long has it been since you set forth, three months?"
            "Yes master. Just another jaunt through the fields for me." Kenjin's eyes shone with a trace of humor. Masuro smiled. Over the years he had noted brief spells when Kenjin's gaze was distant, sad even. More often than not however, there was a lightheartedness in the young man's countenance which had usually been roughened out of most warriors by this stage. Though Kenjin was a man of severe duties, in his eyes dwelt a bright awareness, like the shimmer a clear pond.

            "I thank you doubly for coming directly here after ranging so far," Masuro said.

            "You instructed me to deliver the report in person," said Kenjin. "I came as fast as I could. Luckily on my way back, I was able to join up with Lord Daisuken's regiment. It was he who lent me a charger and dispatched me ahead of the Hiryu."

            "My cousin understands there is no time to waste," Masuro added. "It wasn't his idea to enter the city thus. Daisuken was never one for pomp and ceremony. He would have held council immediately, but his father instructed against it. Lord Kodai-Otosan wants to provide a show of strength, even if we know this treaty is a farce."

            "But the Okami-hitobito clans had been nipping at Shinrin's borders too long."

            "They needed to be dealt with, yes, and it brings me pleasure we've stomped them back in their place. But this victory has not achieved true peace, merely time, and precious little. Mark my words - Shogun Kage-maru is not sitting idly during this interval. Sometimes I wonder if that viper sleeps at all."

            General Masuro and the kenshin-ranger sat in pensive silence. For a passing moment, Masuro imagined he could almost feel the eastern warlord's cold shadow, his mind and will bent against Shenobi and the Southern Kingdoms. Outside, on the other side of the palace, drums trembled and bellowed near Danketsu Square.

            "Regardless of the treaty's importance, I suppose it is for the best to allow the people to enjoy this festival without any cloud hovering over it. Each spring only comes once, neh?" Masuro ruminated a moment longer before turning to the purpose of their meeting. "You must be tired and soon I must attend to the daiymo lords. I think it best we set to it." Masuro nodded. "I would hear your report, Kenjin-san."

            It did not take long for Kenjin to recount the first phase of the mission in which he had gone north with the other kenshin-rangers. Little had been uncovered and the journey unfolded without mishap. He took more time when coming to the first matter of weight:

            "In the contingency that Fumei-noyorou marches against Shenobi, lord Akihara has vowed Shenobi the support of his blue samurai divisions. I've already given Akihara's sealed letter to lord Daisuken." Kenjin paused, before grudgingly divulging, "Unfortunately, Akihara couldn't be persuaded to extend his terms of alliance to include the kingdoms of Shinrin and Eruku."

            "Small surprise there," said Masuro. "The bad blood between Ao-kuraudo and Shinrin and Eruku has stained many generations. Nevertheless this is a beginning. Ao-kuraoudo's ties with the Southern Kingdoms are growing stronger. This could be decisive. We need Ao-kuraoudo's support perhaps even more than we do that of all the Southern feudal lords."

            "Agreed," said Kenjin. "After being at Shiro-ganseki, I think the white castle is a rock the Shogun won't be able to break."

            "He will try though, and lord Akihara knows it. Why else would he side with us? Ao-kuraudo might be the most powerful house of the Middle Kingdoms, but alone, the Shogun's divisions could surround the realm with a sea of spears, and starve them in that castle if need be." Masuro shook his head and humphed. "It is a pitiable state of affairs that the Southern Kingdoms are unable to set their bickering aside, while a house not of our ancestral alliance is willing to join swords with us."

            "The Southern lords will soon see the need to renew loyalty. In the meantime maybe Ao-kuraoudo's support will be enough to make Kage-maru think twice," said Kenjin. "Is it true Lord Akihara's son has come to Shenobi?"

            "Yes. Prince Akihiro and a company of daiymo and their retainers are in the city as we speak, as guests of honor."

            "Well, let's just hope there aren't any incidents with any of those visiting samurai from Eruku and Shinrin."

            "We've taken precautions. Anyone who draws a sword in the city will lose their hand. We're going to make sure Akihiro has a royal time." Masuro grinned. His tone then shifted back to one of business. "So far so good, Kenjin-san. What more do you have to tell?"

            Kenjin recapped how he had returned from Shiro-ganseki, through the borderland wilderness. By and by his words grew tentative, cautiously approaching what came next:

            "I was three days south of Shiro-ganseki, dead middle in the no-man's land. It was probably ten, fifteen ri west of the Silver River." Kenjin concentrated, peering through the dim light and into the past to conjure the scene again. "I came across an enemy camp. There were prisoners. Most were dead. Others were being marched in."

            Masuro had leaned forward, listening intently.

            "The prisoners were samurai and ashigaru, of Eruku, Shinrin, and Ao-kuraudo. There were villagers too." Kenjin's features tightened, as if in the telling he was forced to relieve the bitter scene. "The place was crawling with enemy. But that's no excuse. I should've done something " He clenched his fists. "No doubt the captives are dead now, ... and, ... it's because of my cowardice." He lowered brow, shadowing his eyes. "I know I've brought great shame on myself for failing to act."

            At first Masuro didn't know how to respond. Few and far between were the occasions he had seen the young kenshin-ranger so distraught.

            "Nay. Such a senseless act of heroism would have won your death - nothing more - and a meaningless death at that. Grim as they are, it is far more important you returned with these tidings." Masuro let his assurances settle before asking, "So, this enemy, they were the renegade ronin I assume?"

            Kenjin was on the verge of answering; instead, he stared into nothingness, the words lost to him. Masuro frowned. "Were they Fumei-noyorou samurai then?"

            Still, Kenjin could not respond. His eyes hazed with doubt, he muttered, "I, ... I don't know how to explain it."

            "Just tell me as best you can. You can always trust in me. You know that. So what is it, Kenjin-san?"

            Hesitant as a wolf prowling an unknown forest, the young kenshin-ranger began, "I can't say if they were the Shogun's warriors... I think I know what I saw, but I'm only certain of one thing ... They were an unknown class of samurai."

            "Hmm." Masuro frowned. "You have no idea what house they serve?"

            Kenjin swallowed. In his vacillation was something akin to embarrassment. "Do you believe in spirits master?" he ventured. "In kami of light, and shadow?"

            Masuro did not grasp what course this was taking, yet he considered the question all the same. "During my life I have prayed and made offerings to many kami, as well as the First Gods. But I do not know whether I believe in any of them. Why do you ask, Kenjin-san?" The young kenshin-ranger's gaze was cast low. Whatever it was he was hiding, Masuro would goad it out of him. "You can tell me anything. Whatever it was. Whatever you think it was - I need to know."

            Kenjin looked up, towards his master, then to the sword rack behind him, and to the wall with the painting of the phoenix and the dragon, and into shadows far deeper and further away. His eyes were cold and certain as ice;

            "They were samurai of Akuma-no-yona," he said. "They were demons."