L5r - scroll 01 - The Scorpion Page 4

  A thought occurred to Tetsuo as he kicked aside a spider. He reached up with the torch and set the nearest cobweb ablaze. One web set off the next, like a series of fuses. In an instant, the room filled with blazing light.

  A river ran through the middle of the cavern. It was about six feet wide and filled with bubbling, black water. Neither man could see any spiders on the other side.

  "Make for the river," Shoju ordered. He slew a few more spiders and then ran.

  Clutching the torch in one hand and his katana in the other, Tetsuo followed.

  Spiders rained down on them. The samurai batted the creatures aside with their swords or kicked them with their feet. When one arachnid landed on Tetsuo's back, the Scorpion daimyo killed it without even breaking stride. Soon, they reached the bank of the black river.

  "I hope it's not deep," Tetsuo said as they charged in. It wasn't. Even in the middle, it reached only halfway up the samurai's calves. The water was cold, bone-chillingly so, and black as charcoal. They couldn't see their feet on the bottom.

  On the far bank, they whirled and stood at guard. Flames burned everywhere in the great webs. Spiders danced in pain and fury by the firelight. Several of the hideous creatures approached the river, but the Bayushi cousins charged in and killed them easily enough. Soon the fires died down, and no more spiders came. Gradually, even the hideous chittering grew still. The only sound in the cavern was that of the river and the labored breathing of the samurai.

  "I see why no one comes down here," said Tetsuo.

  Shoju nodded. "Not a trip to take lightly."

  Tetsuo looked around, peering into the babbling ebony waters. "What is this?" he asked.

  "Omidowe no Kawa, The River of Memory," Shoju said. "Drink from it, and you'll forget everything you ever knew."

  "I'd like to forget those spiders."

  Behind his mask, Shoju smiled. "Unfortunately, the river is not so selective. We had better move on."

  Before them, several passageways beckoned. All were natural hallways formed out of living rock and worn smooth by running water. All led deeper into the ground. No footprints disturbed the dust at their entrances. No signs, man-made or otherwise, distinguished one passage from another.

  A shiver ran down Tetsuo's spine. "Which way?"

  "Hold a moment," Shoju replied. "Listen."

  The samurai stopped and held their breath. A long minute passed, and then another. Tetsuo began to wonder what they were listening for. He exhaled and quietly drew another lungful of air—after the manner of his Scorpion stealth training.

  Whether the daimyo breathed or not, Tetsuo could not tell. So complete was Shoju's mastery of his clan's art that, had Tetsuo not known better, he would have thought the older man a statue. His cousin's grim mask only enhanced the effect.

  "Do you hear it?" Shoju whispered.

  Tetsuo quieted his thoughts and concentrated. After a minute he whispered back, "Yes. Yes I do."

  Faintly, in the distance, Tetsuo's ears could make out a strange moaning—as of a dying man on a battlefield. "The shade!" he said.

  "Perhaps," agreed Shoju. "There," he said, indicating one of the tunnels with the point of his sword. He flicked the spider ichor from the blade and resheathed the weapon. "Come," he said.

  Tetsuo cleaned and sheathed his blade as well. He followed his cousin into the dark passage beyond.

  They passed more wall niches but saw no bones in them. The nooks grew more frequent, and the walls of the tunnel more rough.

  "Could we have enough ancestors to fill all these?" Tetsuo asked.

  Shoju shook his head. "Who can say? The line of the Scorpion is long. Perhaps these niches are so deep within the catacombs that they have never been used."

  "Otherwise, what has happened to the bones that once rested here?" Tetsuo said.

  "Hai," Shoju said, nodding.

  Tetsuo wished, not for the last time, that he could see his daimyo's face behind the mask. It would have comforted the young samurai to know that his lord felt the same apprehension he did. The mask gave no clue, and Tetsuo knew that his cousin preferred it that way. In all the years of his life, Tetsuo had never caught more than a glimpse of Bayushi Shoju's face. He had no idea what his cousin really looked like.

  Shoju paused and listened again. The moaning had grown louder, closer. A shiver ran down Tetsuo's spine.

  "Not far now," Shoju said somberly.

  Tetsuo nodded and unconsciously pushed the tsuba of his sword up with his thumb. This time, he did not push the hand guard back down again. His sword remained ready for an attack.

  Up from the passage came a rustling noise, like wind blowing across twigs and dry leaves. Shoju and Tetsuo looked around warily, but could not find the source of the sounds.

  Once again, the passageway opened up before them into a large cavern. This time, they saw no spider webs. Instead, the walls of the room were lined with niches. The light from the samurai's torch could not illuminate what, if anything, lay inside.

  "Look!" Shoju said, pointing.

  On the far side of the room was a raised dais, and on the dais sat a stone altar, and above the altar floated a scroll. Dim green foxfire bathed the scroll in eerie luminescence.

  Before the cousins could enter the vault, two samurai stepped forward to bar their way. The men were dressed in black and red, traditional Scorpion colors, but the armor was tarnished and in poor repair. The samurai in the armor had been dead a very long time. The creatures made a noise like rustling leaves as they walked.

  "Bayushi's spirit!" said Tetsuo, drawing his katana.

  The Scorpion daimyo drew his sword as well, but he uttered no oaths.

  The dead samurai attacked.

  Tetsuo blocked the first cut with his katana. Green sparks flew from where his blade met that of the dead creature. Though the samurai's blade looked rusty, it didn't break as Tetsuo countered the blow.

  "What are these things?" Tetsuo shouted.

  Shoju, fighting for his life, answered, "The Lost—Jigokuni Ochimuratachi. The remains of Scorpions who wandered into these catacombs, never to return."

  With a deft move, Shoju cut through the sword arm of his foe, just below the wrist. The hand and sword fell to the earth.

  The creature didn't notice. It bore forward, clawing at Shoju with its remaining hand and trying to bite him with its teeth. The teeth made a sound like breaking twigs as they gnashed together.

  "I should have thought our ancestors would treat us better," said Tetsuo, masking fear with bravado.

  "These are not our ancestors," Shoju replied. "They are but husks reanimated by the dark magic of this place." His blade whirled around his opponent and separated its head from its shoulders.

  Headless, the monster lashed out with its one bony hand.

  "Then let's return their bodies to eternal rest." With swift strokes, Tetsuo severed the middle of the creature facing him.

  It fell in two parts, but each piece kept trying to fight. Paper-skinned arms dragged the torso across the floor toward Tetsuo. The creature's legs wobbled after the young Scorpion as well, as though it might butt him to death with its bony hips.

  Quickly, the cousins severed limbs from undead bodies. The disparate parts continued to quiver and shake, though they could no longer fight.

  Tetsuo suppressed a shudder. He had hoped destroying the creatures would quiet the clamor in the chamber. Instead, the clacking sound grew louder, and the moaning increased. A baleful howl emanated from the altar on the far side of the room.

  " Yosh," said Shoju, unconcerned about the noise. He kicked a bone away. "Now to have a look at that scroll."

  "Master . . . !" Tetsuo pointed his blade toward the wall niches. Suddenly, they came alive with movement. The bodies of the Lost crept out of their niches and shambled toward the crypt's invaders.

  "It seems the scroll won't be easy to obtain," Shoju said. "But the altar is where our answer lies. Run toward it... now!"

  The Scorpion daimyo sprinted
into the vault and toward the altar. Tetsuo followed.

  The Lost swarmed out of their niches and met the samurai in the middle of the room. Many were mere annoyances: crawling headless torsos, hopping bodiless legs, rotting skulls that pushed themselves across the floor with bloated tongues. These posed little threat to the cousins. Shoju and Tetsuo avoided some and stepped on others, shattering long-dead bones.

  Some of the dead, however, still retained the weapons and skill of the samurai they had been in life. They shambled forward, bones creaking, dry skin cracking. Some held katanas, others spears. These monstrosities coordinated their attacks. They scuffled past decrepit brethren and cut the living samurai off from the dais.

  "Be like grass before the typhoon," Shoju said. He whirled and danced among the dead, his blade flashing. Where the Scorpion met the creatures, the Lost fell. His sword disconnected heads from bodies, torsos from hips, arms from shoulders. He left a pile of quivering parts in his wake.

  Tetsuo marveled at the skill and grace of his master, but he didn't have time to reply. The corpses crowded in on him. His breath was drawn away in fear. The touch of the living was uncomfortable to most Rokugani, but touching the dead . . . The Lost clattered and clutched. Their dead mouths soundlessly gaped. They smelled of rot and mold and decay. This was what it was like to be in Jigoku.

  Tetsuo fought back with all his might, parrying swords, hacking arms and necks. Many fell before Tetsuo's blade.

  A corpse seized Tetsuo's sword arm, another his leg. The bony arm of a third wrapped around his waist.

  Tetsuo started to scream.

  The sound never left his mouth. In a flash, his lord stood beside him. The daimyo's sword moved like wind through the trees. Shoju clove the monster clutching his cousin's waist. Those holding Tetsuo's limbs lost their arms. Shoju kicked the remaining pieces away from the young Scorpion.

  Tetsuo turned and swung his blade in wide circles, as he had seen his daimyo do. His katana found the most vital spots on the corpses: their necks, their waists, their joints. Body parts flew across the chamber. In a moment Tetsuo fought free of his oppressors.

  The cousins once again ran toward the altar.

  "Thank you, Shoju-sama," Tetsuo gasped.

  The older man merely nodded in reply.

  Behind them, the dead, damned things regrouped and shambled forward. Ahead, the path of the samurai was not yet clear. A last phalanx of undead barred their way.

  "Be like the wind among the reeds," said Shoju, darting into the midst of their enemies.

  Tetsuo tried to follow, but his courage faltered. Though he and his cousin had butchered many, the remains still attacked. Bodiless arms crept across the floor, skulls hopped about by opening and closing their jaws, legs pushed and twisted like crippled serpents.

  The cavern reeked of death. The rustle of desiccated corpses sounded like an army of crabs marching over a dry beach. Pieces of parchmentlike skin swirled in the air. The Lost would never stop. They would fight until Tetsuo and Shoju had joined their army of undead.

  "Calm yourself, Tetsuo!"

  "I shall try, Master," Tetsuo said. "I ... Aaa!"

  "Tetsuo!"

  The young lieutenant had momentarily dropped his guard, and the sword of a dead samurai found its mark. The sword cut Tetsuo's kimono and traced a long gash on his left shoulder. Tetsuo staggered back.

  Undead advanced, weapons raised.

  Shoju reached the altar dais. His foot touched the bottom step. The moan in the vault turned into a fierce howl. Winds gushed from behind the floating scroll.

  A shape formed in front of the altar. It resolved into the figure of a Bayushi retainer, the design of his armor and clothes many hundreds of years old.

  The specter screamed. Hot, fetid winds blasted from its mouth. The bodies of the dead fell before the wind like twigs in a typhoon. The Lost moved no more. Tetsuo scrambled to his feet, clutching his wound with one hand.

  "Shoju!" he cried, fearing for his daimyo's life.

  The Scorpion raised his katana over his head. "I am Bayushi Shoju," he said, "daimyo of all the Scorpions. I have come seeking the shade of Bayushi Daijin. I crave answers."

  The ghost undulated through the air, waving its arms. It was far larger than a mortal man. Shoju looked like a doll before it. Its eyes blazed in the darkness. Its tongue lolled like that of a drunkard. Its fingers were long talons. Its legs ended in torn and bloody stumps.

  Tetsuo could hardly bear to look at it. His feet would not move, no matter how he tried to press them forward.

  "Then you crave your death," the specter bellowed. "For I am Daijin. Whoever finds me finds his doom."

  "The scroll you guard, what is it?" Shoju demanded.

  "The future," said the ghost. "Nightmares no living man should know. Secrets I gave my life to defend. Secrets I am bound to protect even now."

  "The dreams of Uikku, the Serene Prophet?"

  The specter merely dipped and bowed.

  "Then I will have them," Shoju said, taking another step forward. "Come, Tetsuo. Fear not this bag of wind."

  Tetsuo tried to will his feet forward. "Master!" he cried. "I cannot!"

  Shoju glanced back at his lieutenant, but kept walking. He stepped into the ethereal body of the spirit.

  It howled, "To touch that scroll is to bring your own doom, Bayushi Shoju!"

  Tetsuo wanted to cover his eyes. The Scorpion daimyo stood amid the body of the specter. Its insubstantial limbs flailed around him. Its ghostly eyes glowered.

  "For the empire," Shoju said, "I will dare anything."

  He stepped through the ghost and seized the scroll. As Shoju's hand touched the parchment, the specter vanished like mist melting before the day.

  The light around the scroll dimmed. Shoju opened it.

  The scroll resisted him, trying to keep itself rolled tight. Green sparks flew from its parchment, nearly blinding the daimyo. The runes that he saw in the moment before the scroll snapped shut burned themselves into Shoju's mind:

  "Know that these are the words of Uikku, the Serene Prophet, as told to Bayushi Daijin. Though long hidden, they will be revealed again when the end of the world is nigh"

  THE DRAGON

  Time stood still as the dragon walked Rokugan.

  Toturi saw its scales shimmering in the cascading water, its great back heaving in the rushing stream, its mane tossing at the waterfall's head. The creature shook itself into wakefulness. A fine mist flew from its body, making rainbows in the afternoon sun. It yawned and fixed its awesome gaze on Toturi.

  The Lion daimyo stood naked before the fabulous creature, amazed but not afraid. He'd seen dragons before. They'd appeared to him a number of times, in moments of great importance.

  Before being called home from the Asoko Monastery, he'd seen one. Another had danced high in the clouds on the battlefield at Shiro no Yojin. A third had appeared in his dreams before he made peace with Doji Hoturi and the Crane clan. And when Toturi lay wounded

  by barbarians before the mountains of Kyodai na Kabe sano Kita, a dragon had told him how to turn the day and win the field for Emperor Hantei the 38th. Dragons also appeared as portents in his dreams. In dream, dragons conformed to their mythical appearance—scales, manes, horns, claws, serpentine bodies. In reality, they were nearly beyond description.

  This one was as translucent as running water. Its long body snaked in and out of the stream like waves heaving on the ocean. Scaly ripples ran along its back in ever-changing armor. Sunlight danced along the dragon's body, splashing light around the small clearing. Where the dragon touched the banks, droplets sprayed in the afternoon air. They spun and danced like tiny perfect worlds, never quite returning to the stream. Soon the air was saturated with the liquid jewels of the dragon's aura.

  The dragon yawned. Fog billowed from its huge mouth. The mist circled its head like a wreath and drifted up into the sky. The creature kept its gaze leveled at Toturi.

  The Lion steeled himself and waited for the
dragon to speak.

  Hatsuko stood beside him, her mouth frozen in mid-word, the top of her kimono just beginning to slip from her shoulders. She looked like a lush, beautifully-fashioned statue—the perfect image of a perfect woman.

  The words of the dragon were for Toturi alone.

  The dragon rumbled. Its voice sounded like waves crashing on a distant shore. "Akodo Toturi, your fortunes have been great."

  Toturi bowed and smiled. "Thank you, great master."

  The dragon shook its head. A halo of rainbows surrounded it.

  "Your fortunes have been great," it repeated. "And your climb to fame spectacular. But your fall will be even greater— if you do not obey the ways of honor."

  Toturi almost laughed. The Lion daimyo had contemplated honor for many years, even back to his days at the Asoko Monastery. "I serve the ways of honor in all things," he said.

  "Not in all things," the dragon replied, its coils dancing in the stream.

  "Was it not for honor that I left the monastery and returned to the lands of my father?" Toturi asked.

  The dragon nodded. "Yes, it was," the creature said.

  "Was it not for honor that I took up the mantle of my father and led the Lion?"

  Again, the creature agreed, its voice soft like the waterfall itself. "Yes."

  "Was it not for honor that I fought against the barbarians during the battle of Kyodai na Kabe sano Kita and nearly died for the emperor's cause?"

  Once more the dragon nodded.

  "And did I not, for the honor of my family, accept the position of general to Emperor Hantei the 38th?"

  "In all these things," said the dragon, "you have been above reproach."

  "How then, have I been remiss?"

  The dragon turned its head and looked at Hatsuko. "This, then, is your fiancee?" the creature asked, its voice reverberating.

  Toturi felt burning anger rise within him. Balling his sword hand into a fist, he said in measured tones, "She is not my betrothed."

  "If not the woman chosen for you by the emperor ... if not Isawa Kaede of the Phoenix ..." asked the dragon, the waterfall of its voice building to thunderous proportions, "who is she, then?"