The War of Three Swords
The War of Three Swords
Arthur Doler and Arwen McNierney
Once, not long ago, I was traveling in Mantis lands and happened to call upon a friend for a visit. As it turns out, he was entertaining a number of other samurai the same evening and encouraged me to attend, knowing my enjoyment of stories - and hoping I would tell a few to liven up the party, I suspect. Though the dinner was enjoyable, the entire evening was thrown into sharp relief when, while extolling the virtues of the Empire, a Doji made an interesting observation.
“The Empire is as a vast river,” he said as he fluttered his fan. “Sometimes its current is slow and sedate, and sometimes it is as furious as the streams in the Dragon mountains. We are carried along, as boats, according to the pace of the age.” The Yoritomo sitting next to him, who had been failing to mask his derision of the Doji all night, rolled his eyes as he toyed with a bit of food in his bowl.
“Boats have oars so they can move themselves, Doji-san. Are you suggesting that even the greatest samurai is unable to direct his own course?”
“I... well, that is... though we may push ourselves about, clearly the …. force of destiny is …” stammered the Doji. As his analogy stretched out thinner than rice noodles, I decided that I liked his observation enough to swoop to the rescue.
“Actually, Yoritomo-san, is it not perfectly possible for boats to become caught in an eddy of the river? Swirling and circling around until effort or chance breaks them free from their dance? In fact, such a thing reminds me of a story I once heard...”
Everyone around the table relaxed as I began reciting the tale. You have heard the first part of it already - the story of a Dragon and a Crane endlessly chasing each other, not so different from the very Sun and Moon themselves. But unlike the heavens, which change only rarely, it is hard for mortals to stay the same for very long. And so it was that Mirumoto Sai and Doji Masami found themselves by a river...
The samurai stood, facing a rushing river. Seppun Katsu, made taller by his back banner, looked to Kitsu Saigo for guidance, and the Lion indicated a group of spearmen coming from the opposite bank. They would meet them in the center and clear the way for those behind. The Seppun nodded and called their formation: he, Mirumoto Sai, Mirumoto Akio, and Agasha Kyoko would engage the spearmen in front. Behind would be their shugenja, Kitsu Saigo, and Doji Masami with her bow.
With a wave of his hand, Seppun Katsu ordered his unit forward, and they plunged into the river, struggling against its furious current. After a moment of concentration and a murmured prayer from the Kitsu, the water kami eased their course around the samurai and the going became easier. They neared the peasant line - spearmen in ashigaru armor all - and a ronin shugenja revealed herself, rising to stand above the water. Moments later, a monk stood beside her. The samurai exchanged a quick glance with their commander, who held their gaze for only a moment before charging with a yell, the Dragon following close behind. The battle was joined.
Standing behind the skirmish proper, Doji Masami struggled to raise her yumi above water, and her first shot went wide. Determination brought focus, and she fired at the shugenja a second time... though her shot was true, a gust of wind intervened, knocking it wildly off course. Masami frowned, glancing at Sai, who was already carving his way through the peasants with relative ease. This fight was not going to go well for her.
Mirumoto Sai, however, was the first to fall.
A peasant had managed two vicious stabs through his chest, and Masami’s eyes widened as Sai splashed backwards into the river. Seppun Katsu’s orders rang, alarmed, over the battlefield, but Masami didn’t hear him; she had already dropped her bow and was underwater, trying to reach the Mirumoto. The river was strong and Masami felt far too weak, but she managed to grab his wrist and tug - mostly ineffectually, but enough to get him a touch closer. There - one arm around his chest, her feet against the rocky ground, a push... she gasped for air, forcing Sai’s head above water and struggling against the current that threatened to sweep them both downstream.
There was so much red. Sai’s life was bleeding out of him, his eyes rolling back, and Masami wasn’t even certain he was- “Support!” she screamed, for once not fighting the shrillness in her voice. “He needs healing! Please, help! Support!”
Masami took another breath, but before she could start again a glowing hand gently touched Sai’s drenched hair, followed by a quick prayer to the kami. Power filled Sai and color returned to his face, his wounds closing and the river washing the blood away. Masami turned to thank the returned spirit, but Isawa Koukainashi was already gone, splashing towards other samurai calling for assistance.
As life flowed back into Sai, he straightened out of Masami’s grasp. He winced involuntarily; not from lingering pain, but from the sheer shame of having required assistance to remain above the river’s surface. And worse yet, assistance from Masami. She would never let him live this down.
His recrimination was cut short as the monk appeared in his line of sight, leaping through the air and slamming his rock-hard fists first into Seppun Katsu, and then into Mirumoto Akio. The monk’s grin widened as both samurai dropped, slipping beneath the fast-moving current. Sai reached for his swords and stopped short - they were no longer there. They must be under the water, of course. Findable, but his fellow samurai needed his help right now, not after he’d finished splashing around in the river like a child. Desperation began to set in, and he looked behind him, to Masami.
Masami’s own gaze extended past Sai to see Akio and Katsu fall. One hand was already back, to where her yumi would normally be, and her fingers twitched slightly before she focused on the Dragon next to her. He had no swords; she had no bow; they had no time. Two samurai were already dead or dying, sweeping downstream. Masami’s mind raced, trying to come up with a solution. As much as she wished otherwise, she was in no condition to wade into battle. The river wouldn’t have it. Her rival, on the other hand... Masami locked eyes with Sai.
“Take my swords.”
For a long moment, Sai simply looked back at Masami, dumbfounded. His rival, his eternal opponent, the samurai who had dueled her way into a position as an assistant sensei... was offering him her swords? How could she? Why would she? Was she simply mocking him?
The steel in her gaze answered that question. She understood as well as he did how dire the moment was. And truthfully, he had no choice. Moving swiftly so as not to give himself the chance to falter, he reached around Masami and drew both her swords, dropping into his stance. The weight of the swords, the texture of the grips in his hands, the very act of holding the swords themselves felt wrong, but he forced himself to ignore it. After a moment of concentration, he looked to Masami, nodded once, and leapt back into the fray, cutting an ashigaru down with two well-placed strokes. This was what had to happen, no matter how he felt about it. Behind him, Masami began pushing through the water for the place they had last seen Mirumoto Akio.
What happened next may be best described in the manner of dappled sunlight on the tips of waves; small flashes of calm and heroic action that can only be glimpsed at in the chaos of the battlefield.
Kitsu Saigo focusing his entire energy on stopping the ronin shugenja, whose magic constantly threatened to drag the bushi under.
Soshi Shunso and Isawa Koukainashi, both from support, moving into the rushing water to save Seppun Katsu. Koukainashi manages to pull Katsu from the river’s grasp, but Shunso is struck down by a heavy blow from the monk.
Doji Masami dragging Mirumoto Akio’s unconscious form onto the riverbank, fighting the current with all of her strength.
Suzume Bengo likewise managing to rescue Soshi Sunso before the Scorpion drowns.
A burst of flame from Isawa Reiko, distracting the ronin shugenja enough that a blade - whose blade is uncertain - is able to finally fell the ronin.
Mirumoto Sai taking first the arm and then the head of the final ashigaru in two vicious strokes, his anger clear but tempered by control.
Agasha Kyoko leaping forward, her small frame filled with power and determination, to strike the final blow on the terrible monk.
And at last, the skirmish abating, the samurai pushing to the opposite bank of the river with obvious relief.
Doji Masami was one of those relieved samurai, and she was taking a brief moment to work some feeling back into her numb limbs. She felt like water had seeped into her very bones, and she shivered as a breeze passed through before bringing a hand up to her shaved head. Masami mentally sighed. No jingasa; it must have been lost to the river, and it was light enough to be carried far downstream by now. Well. She’ll catch cold and maybe develop a rash or two (fish tend to scatter, though Masami was rarely so lucky), but a few silent prayers to Jurojin would hopefully be enough to keep illness at bay until the end of the battle.
Masami surveyed the area. Kitsu Saigo was with both Mirumoto Akio and Seppun Katsu, calling upon the kami to tend to their wounds. They seemed to be recovering quickly - they were conscious now, and regaining their bearings. A good thing, she noted, especially since the order to push forward may happen at any moment. And then her eyes landed on Mirumoto Sai, sitting on the riverbank with his daisho, recently recovered from the water, lying next to him. He was obviously hurt and bleeding, but he also made no move to seek medical attention.
She allowed herself another mental sigh before she grabbed her medicine kit and approached, studying him with a clinical eye. The Dragon was clearly injured; he had numerous open gashes, but they looked relatively shallow. He was right not to trouble the shugenja, but still... Masami knelt next to him, murmuring, “Mirumoto-san.”
Sai broke his gaze from his hands and looked up at her, but he made no additional movements. Masami sighed again - outwardly this time, as she was frankly very tired - and gestured to his injuries. Sai just stared, and Masami tried not to fidget. “You’re wounded,” she tried again, a touch of annoyance creeping into her voice. Really, was he trying to make her beg to treat him? After another long moment of just looking at her, he finally shifted, allowing her access.
She patched him up in silence, trying to keep her trembling fingers steady. Recent events replayed in her mind, and the giddy feeling that came with their hard-fought victory warred with intense disappointment at her own failure. Sai had turned into a demon once a daisho was back in his hands - just as she had known he would - and even though she couldn’t see it, she knew her swords had been flashing in his own, effective variation of the standard Mirumoto sword dance. In giving them to him, she had acknowledged however briefly that he was her better, and she had placed everything in his hands. On some level, she knew... no, Masami told herself, stopping the thought. The battle was more important than- “Thank you,” Sai said.
Masami blinked, and she realized she was done; in fact, she was already placing her supplies back where they belonged. She turned her attention to Sai, who had once again fixed his unnerving gaze on her, and she nodded, suddenly and keenly aware of her own baldness. The battle - the Empire - was more important than one small rivalry. “You used them well,” she replied, softly, as she picked up her kit. Doji Masami rose - gracefully, she hoped - and walked away, feeling Mirumoto Sai’s eyes on her the entire time.
Sai swayed gently with the motion of his horse as it walked its way to Otosan Uchi, mostly under its own guidance. Mirumoto Akio was talking, asking him questions about the outcome of the battle, but as Sai answered his gaze remained fixed on a spot somewhere between his horse’s ears.
“Do you think the Empress will offer clemency for any of the peasants?”
“It’s hardly my place to wonder about the Daughter of Heaven.” Sai’s response was polite enough, but short, even compared to his usual taciturn nature.
“I am simply curious to see what her opinion is on the celestial wheel. With the events of this summer, she and her regent may have to decide that position sooner than she thinks.”
“That has little bearing on the aftermath of this particular battle.” Sai’s mouth was moving, but his mind was racing, chasing down the riddle from which he seemed unable to escape: she had allowed him - had commanded him, in point of fact - to use her swords. Why?
“True, but clemency would go a long way toward preventing another uprising in the near future,” said Akio.
“Words often can’t be heard over swords.” Her swords. Not simply her soul, but her honor as well. Why? The question gnawed at him, refused to let him have a moment’s peace. It was as though he was still back in the river.
“... Mirumoto Sai-san?” said Akio, his voice louder than normal and his face frowning. “Are you all right?” Sai realized he hadn’t heard a thing Akio had said for almost a minute. He took a deep breath.
“Yes. My apologies. What were you saying, again?” It was no use obsessing over the matter now. It wouldn’t be solved on a horse - it would have to be solved in some other manner.
Masami rode a ways behind. The sun bore on the company mercilessly, and while this allowed their equipment to dry quickly, she was uncomfortably aware of her uncovered head and the sunburn that was no doubt forming on her bare scalp. Hopefully she’ll have time to procure a new hat before attending court. It should at least save others some discomfort.
She watched the Dragon converse. It was strange. Usually, Sai was the one who stood on the outskirts, but now... He had barely said a word to her since the skirmish in the river. Were it someone else, she’d assume that he was using the opportunity to catch up with old cousins he hadn’t seen for some time. Mirumoto Akio was courteous enough, and Sai could certainly afford to have some of that rub off on him. But since this was Sai, Masami could only assume that he was fully aware of the fact that she carried a cold from the skirmish in the river and was now trying to avoid her.
It was fair, she supposed as she hid a cough behind her fan. Such illness was evidence of past sins - a curse Jurojin had placed on Masami before she was even born - and Sai knew as much about it as she did. And perhaps he was trying to be polite, in his own way, by not approaching her and thus not calling attention to it. Masami frowned slightly, weighing the possibilities in her mind, then turned her gaze to the horizon. They had been through enough lately. Polite he must be.
You may well already know the story of that day, and the momentous events that happened once the samurai attended court in Otosan Uchi. The daimyo absent from the battle flooded into the throne room. The Steel Chrysanthemum, returned from the spirit realms, staked his claim to the regency, suddenly and violently. The court was in utter chaos; no doubt the intention of the whole event.
At the first sign of trouble, Sai and Masami - weaponless in the presence of the Empress - placed their backs to each other as though expecting outright battle. Seppun Katsu, seemingly in the act of swallowing his own tongue, was swiftly hustled to a dark corner of the room by his friend, Shosuro Himitsu, whose elaborate mask hid her own reaction. Mirumoto Akio reached for his daisho; upon finding it missing, he tucked his hands into his obi and simply watched, expressionless.
With a swiftness belying the immensity of the events, a daimyo lay dead on the floor, and the assembled guests were turned loose, free to go back to their rooms... but of not, of course, to leave the palace until the morning.
To say Doji Masami was restless would be a vast understatement, as the young samurai found herself wringing her hands and pacing the confines of her room nervously. The entire situation was completely mad - to swear fealty to the returned Hantei would be impossible, but she found herself weaponless in every sense save her own death, which.... It would be something, and it would preserve her honor, but it also felt tragically ineffective. She stopped abruptly, gazing at the door. Truthfully, she did not want to die. Not at the hands of a clearly cruel man with too much ambition and too much influence, and not so soon after surviving near-impossible odds in the river. Masami stepped out into the hall. She would take a walk. It may help, and while she was a prisoner in the palace, she was not confined to her room.
It wasn’t long before Masami found herself standing outside of Sai’s door. The Dragon samurai’s presence had hounded her since her first Winter Court, and he was here even now, on what was likely her last day in this incarnation. Masami raised her hands, then hesitated.
Her relationship with Mirumoto Sai was a puzzle... one that she was now quite sure she would never piece together. Often it felt simple; he was her rival, an opponent to constantly measure herself against, someone who was always just slightly her better at so many things, with all of the natural talent she so sorely lacked yet desired... even his gifts carried a sting, though she made certain she returned the favor. Yet at the first sign of an external threat, he was also the first person she relied on - without thought, without hesitation.
And so it was, even now, as Masami’s feet had brought her to his room. If she had one ally in this palace, Mirumoto Sai was it. She should at least feel comfortable in asking if he was well. Masami steeled herself and clapped.
Sai sat in his room. Once, long ago, someone had explained to him the difference between sitting in meditation and just sitting - they had used a walking stick to drive the point home. This evening he was definitely just sitting, completely overwhelmed by the enormity of the day’s events. His mask lay on the table beside him, and even thoughts of Doji Masami and the battle by the river had been driven from his mind. What would it mean to refuse an oath?
At the clapping at the door, Sai brought his head up. Whoever this was, it likely meant trouble. But a distraction would be welcome.
“Enter.” At that, the door slid aside and Doji Masami peered into the room, looking about as though uncertain what to expect.
“Mirumoto-san.” She paused a moment, studying his face, and with a practiced motion Sai plucked the mask off the table and slid it into place.
“Doji-san. Did you have something you wished to talk about?”
Masami glanced around the room again, almost giving the impression that she didn’t know herself. Nevertheless, her gaze settled back on Sai and she said, “I was wondering how you are faring this evening.” The question seemed to hang in the air for a moment.
“As well as could be expected.” Sai rose to his feet. “I can have the servants bring some tea.”
“That’s quite all right. It is rather late.” Masami entered the room and shut the door behind her. Another moment stretched out, until: “The oath. Tomorrow. Will you take it?” Sai blinked - Masami was very rarely this direct. He took a slow breath.
“I have sworn my oath of fealty, and my daimyo - or more correctly his advisors - have made their allegiance clear. I cannot serve two masters when one is sufficient.” He glanced at Masami. “And you?”
She met Sai’s eyes briefly before her gaze shifted to a point to the right and slightly below. “My daimyo was not among those gathered. Even so... my grandfather would disapprove,” she said, softly, “as do I.”
Sai nodded, turning and walking to the window. For a few moments, they stood in silence, until Sai turned back. “Seppun-san did not look at all well as he was being dragged from the court. We should check on him.”
Masami tilted her head in assent, as Sai was right. Of anyone she readily knew, Seppun Katsu would be having the most difficult time coming to terms with the current situation - and right now, company was all anyone could offer. She turned, reaching back to open the door.
Together, they padded in silence down the hall. As they neared the Seppun’s room, they saw someone else approaching from the opposite direction: Shosuro Himitsu, her expression effectively hidden by her mask. She reached his room first and clapped; at receiving no answer, she simply opened the door and stepped on in. Masami glanced at Sai, who was already following her into the room. Well, she mused, her actions weren’t inappropriate in this instance. She looked in after the rest of them.
Seppun Katsu sat in the middle of his comfortably appointed room, dressed in white and staring down at a piece of paper with a calligraphy brush in hand. A cursory glance told Masami that the paper was blank, but still...
“Katsu-san?” Himitsu called, not receiving an answer. She walked over and snapped her fingers in front of his face. No reply; not even a blink. Masami stepped into the room and exchanged a worried look with Sai as the Scorpion got to work, plucking the brush from his hand while sliding the paper away from him. As the brush slipped through his fingers, Katsu’s whole body slumped into a defeated position. Himitsu nodded to herself, then set about removing anything that could be remotely considered deadly or dangerous from the Seppun’s immediate reach.
Sai settled onto the floor as another clap sounded and Mirumoto Akio entered with biwa in hand, followed shortly thereafter by the Hida who had accompanied them back from the battlefield. As discussions began between the samurai over the events of the day and the threat of tomorrow, masked only by the walls and the sound of Akio’s biwa, Sai pulled a bottle of Friendly Traveller sake out from his kimono and dropped it onto the table with a dull thud.
Everyone turned to look at the sound, and he simply shrugged. “Now seems like the appropriate time.” Glasses were found, and everyone but Himitsu shared a cup, though most of the sake found its way into Seppun Katsu.
Another clapping at the door - all present looked around, uncertain who it might be. It slid aside to reveal Otomo Mitsuhide, who said, quite simply, “The Empress needs your help, samurai.”
Seppun Katsu suddenly sat bolt upright, his sake cup clattering to the table. All eyes shifted to him. “We accept!”
The waves were rippling with lantern light that night, as the samurai worked to secure the Daughter of Heaven from harm’s way.
Seppun Katsu, hands behind his head, kneeling prostrate in the hall before a Seppun loyal to Hantei Okucheo.
The Hida standing watch, screening a doorway while Masami and Himitsu slip past him.
Doji Masami entering the Empress’ room to find another guardsman, and desperately trying to convince him of the rightness of their cause.
Shosuro Himutsu finally swaying the guardsman with quiet, clever words.
Tsudao’s governness deciding to accompany the young Empress, wherever she goes.
Mirumoto Sai throwing the room into disarray at the behest of the Scorpion, as she tosses a rope out the window.
Mirumoto Akio guarding the secret passageway until everyone else had made their escape.
The panicked flight through the night to Kakita Toshiken’s camp.
And so the samurai found themselves facing each other the morning after. The dilemma was clear: the Empress could not remain with the Emerald Champion. Her safety needed to be ensured, and Kakita Toshiken had offered her saviors the choice of where she should be protected. Not all were in agreement.
“Ryoko Owari is the safest city in the Empire,” said Shosuro Himitsu, snapping her fan shut. “Nothing is found there unless the Scorpion want it to be.”
Mirumoto Akio looked to Sai, then back to the Scorpion, arguing, “But it is possible that Hantei Okucheo will simply attack the entire city. If she were to be moved to Kyuden Tonbo, the very mountains would protect her.”
Himitsu flickered her fan with derision. “Stone is stagnant and immovable. People and words will be her best protection, and nowhere will they be wielded as effectively as in Ryoko Owari.”
“You speak of people? The Dragon had no daimyo who backed Okucheo. How could she be safer than in the lands of people who are clearly on her side?”
“As if that won’t make it all the more important for him to crush them.” Himitsu turned to Seppun Katsu. “Seppun-san, you risked more than most of us for the safety of the Empress. What is your opinion?”
“While I have my reservations about the matter, it is true that Shosuro-san has never steered me wrong before,” said the Seppun, frowning. “I will defer to her on the matter.”
In desperation, Akio turned to Sai. “Cousin, surely you can lend the weight of your words to ensure our Empress is fostered in safety.”
Sai shook his head slowly. “This is a weighty matter. We should let the heavens decide.” With that, he nodded to Masami, whose eyes widened for a moment before she nodded back and turned to Seppun Katsu.
“Seppun-san,” Masami said as she folded her hands beneath her sleeves, “I respectfully request that we settle the matter with a duel to first touch. Since the heavens will guide the sword of the winner, they will choose the best place for the Daughter of Heaven.” After a moment of thought, Katsu nodded.
A place was cleared, and the samurai dropped into stance, each assuming one traditional for their respective training. Doji Masami watched Seppun Katsu carefully, finally certain in both ability and focus. All of the bloodshed and upheaval over the past few days had narrowed down to a single point. She only needed one opening - her opponent shifted - there! A flash, and the duel was over. The flat of her blade lay against Katsu’s arm, but she knew that his own had grazed her shoulder.
Masami slowly lowered her katana. She had lost. She saw her chance and executed perfectly, but she had still lost. She shook her head, trying to clear it, and then blinked, focusing on the Imperial. Katsu had dropped to one knee, offering his sword as though she had bested him. And while she did think Kyuden Tonbo was best for the Empress... Masami couldn’t take it. She reached a hand down to him, instead, to help him get to his feet.
As the other samurai gasped in astonishment, Sai nodded slowly to himself. Masami’s talent truly was remarkable, but the outcome was not in question. He stepped forward.
“It seems as though the heavens have spoken. Neither city should host the Empress.”
The Hida, who until this point had remained mostly silent, spoke. “After a display like that, perhaps the Crane should protect her.” As everyone turned to look at him, he shrugged. “That’s how I see it.” And with that, the matter was decided.
Sai sat alone on the ground in the Emerald Champion’s camp, facing a well-fed campfire. Messengers and scouts occasionally passed behind him, carrying information to Kakita Toshiken’s command tent, but he paid them little notice. Instead he gazed through the fire and found himself dwelling once again on Doji Masami... and her swords. All the events of the past two days, all the important moments and critical choices, a million causes and effects for the entire Empire. And still whenever he found himself at rest his mind returned to consider the samurai-ko and her actions when they were standing in the river.
What she had done was eminently practical. The speed of the current had hindered her and made him the better combatant. But that decision - that admission that she viewed him as truly skilled was at odds with her chilly politeness, her mocking deference, and her unrelenting presence as a duelist. For her to go as far as she had... it was a warm breeze on a mountaintop. It was a lie or a trick. But if it was a trick, she had put more than her life on the line for it - she had put her very honor and soul.
It was too much. He should put it behind him and be done with the whole matter. He could never ask her, and without asking her, there was no way for him to know what she was thinking.
The logs in the fire shifted as one of them burned through, the pile resettling into a new balance. Mirumoto Sai blinked slowly as an idea dawned. Maybe there was a way after all. He rose to his feet quickly and summoned one of the camp servants. By the end of the night, he would finally have clarity.
One way or the other.
Doji Masami practiced kata by firelight, her katana slicing the air as her mind worked. She shouldn’t be this distracted, she knew. She should focus on the training at hand. But her mind wouldn’t rest, nattering at the corners of her thoughts and circling the actions of one Mirumoto Sai.
She allowed herself a scowl as she thrust the blade forward and then sliced to one side, her feet moving along with ritual precision. His cousin had asked him to lend his words to the matter, and she had never known Sai to approach things half-heartedly. He brought an intensity to his every movement; even when still, he gave an impression of readiness, of power, of the ability to make his will known through action and sword. And now...
Now, when faced with what may be the most momentous decision he could possibly have a hand in, he placed the result on her shoulders. He suggested without words that her sword, not his, be the one the heavens would guide. Masami knitted her brow. It made no sense. Mirumoto Sai was a more than capable duelist, and the stakes were too high. It was almost as though- Masami dropped out of her stance, stunned. It was almost as though Mirumoto Sai believed she was the better duelist.
“Doji-sama?”
Masami started, turning to see a young messenger, features difficult to make out in the now sparse firelight. How long had she been standing there? “I was instructed to give this to you,” she said, bowing as she offered a folded piece of paper.
Masami sheathed her katana and accepted the letter, turning it between her hands while the messenger left. It was unmarked, but the seal... She moved closer to the fire, and her eyebrows rose. The seal was Sai’s. Wasting no further time, Masami broke the seal and unfolded the letter. It read: “Doji Masami. I request that you meet me in the grove to the south of the camp. A matter must be addressed.”
She read the letter one more time, then tucked it in her obi and left.
Fireflies danced around Masami as she entered the grove. The trees here were sparse, but as she moved deeper into their darkness she soon lost sight of the rest of the camp. She passed into a small clearing lit by the moonlight and found Sai standing there, swords drawn and ready in the traditional Mirumoto dueling style. His face was impassive as he said, calmly, “Take your stance.”
Masami opened her mouth to respond, but her questions died in her throat. The look in Sai’s eyes was like nothing she’d seen from him before: serious and focused, deadly but without a spark of anger. Masami gazed back for a long moment. This would be no duel to the first blood, she realized, no exhibition match or friendly spar. This was something far more final. She moved an appropriate distance away and bowed to him before shifting into her own stance, one hand proffered as though offering a gift.
Their eyes locked, and the two samurai held themselves perfectly still, heedless of the slight chill creeping into the warm night air, ignorant of the flickering light from the fireflies - focused on nothing but each other. All fell silent as they waited for the perfect opportunity, time stretching each instant into forever.
A sudden breeze blew through the clearing, accompanied by the flash of swords. The breeze faded, and Masami found herself with her blade against Sai’s throat - and Sai’s blade against hers.
A kharmic strike.
For a long moment, they stood there, blades mere fractions of an inch from ending each other’s lives. Beads of sweat had broken out across Sai’s brow, and Masami’s dark eyes were wide, her skin drawn and pale in the moonlight.
And then, incredibly, Sai smiled. It could hardly be said to be a pleasant smile; even disregarding his burns the smile was aggressive. Almost a challenge. But he lowered his swords, sheathed them with a swift movement, and bowed to Masami, still smiling.
At Sai’s action, Masami recoiled, nearly dropping her own sword in the process. She blinked owlishly at him, half in shock and half in wonder, before comprehension began to dawn in her eyes.
Doji Masami sheathed her katana and bowed, just as low. When she straightened, she met Mirumoto Sai smile for smile.
And so, finally freed from the eddy that had them trapped, the Dragon and the Crane floated free once more, subject only to the current of destiny and the flow of the very Empire itself. That destiny took them someplace very interesting, of course, but that will have to wait for another story.
As for the dinner party? The guests loved my tale, and I left the next morning with the name of a Doji who owed me a favor. After all, it’s hard to row a boat without any oars.
