Guardian, Saviors of Kamigawa

CHAPTER 5

The moon shone down on the fortress of Eiganjo. For the first time in over a decade, the glowing half-orb hung from a clear and cloudless sky, surrounded by pinpoints of clean, white starlight. Fat, lazy clouds drifted across the night sky, but even they curved around the moon as if unwilling to spoil the view from below.

Far beneath the waxing moon stood the tower-fortress of Eiganjo, a massive white-stone edifice that stretched proud and strong up to the very clouds themselves. Moonlight cast the tower’s shadow far across the lowlands to the south, with only its ragged tip to spoil the smooth and solid wall of black. The tower’s uppermost level was an irregular line of broken rock, and its shadow passed through a similar jagged gap in the mighty walls around Eiganjo. There were no signs of life from the tower or the courtyard within the fortress walls. From a distance, Eiganjo appeared as silent as a tomb, as pale as a spirit, and as lonely as a headstone.

The hooded figure of Toshi Umezawa stepped from the shadows at the northwest corner of the walls. He adjusted his finest acolyte’s robe (or, at least, the finest robe he could steal that looked like an acolyte’s robe) and stole a quick glance around the deserted parade grounds. With his head bowed, he began to shuffle across the courtyard toward a two-story outbuilding on the west side of the tower.

His journey continued in complete silence until he approached the door to the outbuilding. From just outside the wide double doors, he heard a strange burbling sound. It was a clean, flowing sound like the tone from some fabulously exquisite musical instrument. The hooded figure tilted his head up to the second floor, the source of the sound.

The lush, soothing song was interrupted by a ferocious barking from inside the building. Toshi stepped back as a huge pale dog erupted from the double doors, its gruff voice both alarm and threat.

Oh, good, the ochimusha thought. He drew a hook-shaped weapon from beneath his robes and held it point-first toward the dog. The hook had been hammered from dull, gray metal and shaped so that the shorter, blunt tine stood below the thicker tapering spike above. The dog stopped just outside the double doors, still barking at top volume.

Toshi peered from beneath his cowl. “I know you,” he said to the dog. “Why are you always so loud when you see me?”

“You may know Isamaru,” a thin but steady voice said. “However, he does not know you. Stand very still, sir. I would regret it if you were bitten accidentally.”

“Isamaru,” Toshi said, memorizing the name. The next time he saw this dog he wanted to be able to order it around by name. He nodded to Isamaru and dropped his jitte to his side but did not sheathe it. He called out over the dog’s barking, “This is Princess Michiko’s dog.”

“Sir. That dog belongs to Daimyo Konda himself.” An elderly man in a rumpled white uniform stepped out of the building. His skin was like translucent paper stretched tight over his bones. Wisps of silver hair peeked out from under his helmet and his left hand trembled. In his right he carried a long pole with a paper lantern strung to the end. Shuddering slightly, the old man lit the lantern and extended it out over the newcomer’s head.

“I am Acting Constable Aoyama,” the old man said. He peered at the robed man, scanning him from head to toe. Isamaru stopped barking but stood alert and ready within springing distance of the new arrival.

Constable Aoyama’s lamp shook as he spoke. “What are you doing near the stables, priest?”

Toshi shook his head, more amused than he expected to be. “I’m no priest.”

The constable grunted. “You wear the robes of a seeker. Are you a monk?”

“I am a seeker, but not a monk. I’m more of an acolyte, a follower. I aspire to spiritual greatness, but aspiration is a long way from achievement.”

The old man lowered the lantern. “Well, whatever you are, don’t try to preach strange religious beliefs in Eiganjo. The spirits have brought great hardship upon us lately.”

Toshi tilted his head toward the broken walls and the damaged tower. “So I see,” he said. “But rest easy, constable. I’m not one for preaching, though I do feel much safer knowing you’re on the job.”

Aoyama laughed. “Don’t be too confident,” he said. “All of our able-bodied men are dead or fighting on the frontier. That leaves patrols and other mundane duties to old men like me. I’m really just a groomsman with a uniform.” He lowered the pole to the ground to steady the lantern and drew his own weapon, a metal truncheon similar to Toshi’s.

“They told me the jitte was a constable’s tool,” Aoyama said. He absently turned the hooked truncheon over in his hand, letting the moonlight play across its surface. “But you wield one too.”

Toshi slowly lifted his jitte, extended his index finger, and let the hook dangle from it. “I didn’t realize the Daimyo was so specific about who can carry what weapons.”

Aoyama straightened. “In Eiganjo,” he said sternly, “the constable’s hook is like the samurai’s sword. It is a badge of office as well as an essential tool for performing the duties of that office.”

“Of course, Acting Constable. Please know that I respect that office and those duties.” Toshi twirled his own jitte around his finger and then caught it by the handle. “But I mainly use mine to keep people from stabbing me.”

Aoyama laughed. “It’s good for that, too.” He sheathed his jitte and relaxed. Isamaru also sat, but his eyes were wide and he panted, showing the hooded figure his large white teeth.

The constable gestured with the pole. “Why aren’t you fighting with the other young men?”

“I am not a citizen of Eiganjo. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been fighting the Kami War elsewhere, in my own way.”

“Forgive me, acolyte. I meant no disrespect,” Aoyama said. “But you should know there is danger here. An akki horde not half a day’s march to the north. They have been trying to mount an offensive against the fortress since … since …”

The old man faltered. Isamaru whined.

The visitor spoke up. “Since the walls were breached?”

“Yes.”

The hooded head cocked to one side. “A terrible day. But still … goblins on the plains of Towabara?”

“Unbelievable, I know. But true. They were led here by sanzoku bandits and they breed like maggots. Isamaru here accompanies the soldiers to and from the battle. Captain Okazawa himself made him an honorary soldier for the duration.” He leaned forward and ruffled the fur on the dog’s head with a palsied hand. “Without Isamaru here, and Yosei, the fortress would have been overwhelmed in a matter of hours.”

“Yosei?”

“The spirit dragon who protects Eiganjo. He could not stop the destruction of the tower and he suffered terrible wounds, but he still kept the goblins from our door.” Aoyama moved the lantern aside and looked up into the night sky. “There,” he said. “That streak of light to the north. Can you see it?”

Toshi followed Aoyama’s gaze. “I see it.” Indeed, a thin stream of light etched a glowing spear to the left the moon. It could have been a large comet or shooting star, but it was uniformly bright along the length of its streamlined body. As it streaked over the broken tower, its serpentine features stood out clearly against the dark sky. This was Yosei, the Morning Star, guardian beast from the spirit world who served Eiganjo when most of his fellow spirits turned against the world of flesh and substance.

As majestic and awe-inspiring as Yosei was, he was clearly diminished from his full glory. His proud, whiskered head indicated he should be a long, sinuous creature, but his body seemed to be only half of what it should be. Yosei shone with a bright white light, but the mangled end of his body left a trail of glittering purple haze and thick pink vapor.

“He is awesome indeed, Constable. But is he well?”

Aoyama’s chest swelled. “He has borne that terrible wound you see for many days now. Any lesser creature would have died on the spot, but Yosei continues to fight. The soldiers say he will not die until the last goblin has been scoured from the plains.”

“Magnificent. Between the great spirit dragon and the daimyo’s glorious battle-moths, Eiganjo rules the sky. The akki cannot hope to prevail.”

Aoyama’s face soured. “Forgive me, acolyte. I never did get your name.”

The green-eyed man turned to the constable. “Toshi,” he said. “You can call me Toshi.”

“I am the keeper of the moth stables, Toshi. It is my sworn duty to care for these great beasts and to protect them from harm.” Aoyama drew his jitte. “What is your interest in them?”

Toshi smiled. “You may be old, Acting Constable Aoyama, but you are still keen. I had heard that the moths were all but wiped out in the recent battle here. I wanted to see them with my own eyes before they are gone for good.”

Aoyama lowered his weapon. “I see. You’re almost too late, Acolyte Toshi. There are barely a dozen of the great moths left, and even that is too many for us to feed.”

“How tragic,” Toshi said. “Will you let them starve, or will you release them to fend for themselves?”

Aoyama shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “I am a loyal servant of the daimyo,” he said stiffly.

“But also the moth’s only caretaker. I’m told they are magnificent creatures. Surely you wouldn’t just let them wither? Gossip around the fortress says Konda and the bulk of his army were slain, but survive as spirits to fight for your freedom. If the moths die, will they go on fighting? Will they join Konda’s spirit army? Or will they simply be dead?”

“Konda was not slain,” Aoyama said angrily. “And as for what happens to these moths when they die, I have no intention of finding out.”

“Ah, but you already have, constable. Because there are less than a dozen moths now, but a week ago there were more. As the food stocks dwindle, you’ve been letting some of them go.” Toshi’s eyes twinkled. “Haven’t you?”

Aoyama thumped his lantern pole on the ground. “I think you should move along, acolyte.” Isamaru stood, his eyes on Toshi, waiting for a command.

Toshi clasped his hands together and bowed lightly. “I understand your concerns, Aoyama, and you should not feel ashamed. I must be honest with you now: I have ridden the daimyo’s moths before. I hold them in the highest esteem, and I support your efforts to save them, no matter what Daimyo Konda or anyone else may think. You are a hero, sir, a kind friend to these noble creatures.”

Aoyama stared at Toshi, his paper lantern swaying on the end of its string.

“Please,” the constable said. “I’m old, not feeble. Every warlord and minor daimyo across Kamigawa would do anything to acquire one of Konda’s battle-moths. I may have … relocated some of my charges, but I would burn them all alive in their stables before I would turn them over to Eiganjo’s enemies. A priest’s robe and a flowery speech will not convince me otherwise.”

His growls rising with the new tension between the two men, Isamaru barked.

Toshi’s open, guileless face did not change. Through bright eyes and a slight smile, he said, “So, there’s no chance of convincing you to turn away for a few moments and overlook the loss of one more moth?”

Aoyama pointed his jitte at Toshi. “None.” Keeping his eyes on Toshi, Aoyama said, “Isamaru!”

In response, the dog’s eyes narrowed and his claws dug into the ground.

“I ask you to reconsider, Constable.” Still smiling slightly, Toshi tossed his head back. The cowl fell back and settled around his neck and shoulders.

The symbol inscribed across the flesh of Toshi’s forehead glowed softly, casting a light purple sheen over the rest of his face. A cold wind whipped up around him, swirling his robe around his body.

He turned to the dog. “Isamaru,” he said, “stay back.”

The dog’s growling trailed into an uncertain whine. As Toshi spoke, his breath came in great clouds of white fog. The mist from his lungs hardened into crystals before him and fell like snowflakes to the dusty ground.

Aoyama gasped, his lantern making the shadows dance crazily across the ground. The old man held his jitte out in front of him, backing away and praying furiously under his breath.

Toshi pointed to the symbol on his brow. “I bear the mark of the yuki-onna. Just as the akki goblins from the frozen wastes have come to Eiganjo, so does this, the curse of lethal cold, the primordial fury of winter. Stand aside, old man, or feel the icy touch of death.”

Aoyama blinked. “Hang on. The yuki-onna is a female spirit. Snow-woman. How did you …”

Toshi frowned. “Don’t dodder, Constable.” He gestured at the symbol again. “This is the kanji for yuki-onna. I bear her power as well as her symbol.”

Aoyama simply stared, his jitte trembling in his hand. Isamaru advanced a pace and began growling again.

Toshi sighed. “What does it take to frighten you and that damned dog away for ten seconds?”

“More than you possess, false acolyte. You’re no seeker, you’re just a lowlife.”

Toshi shrugged. “I mean well.”

Aoyama steadied his lantern. “Go on now, Toshi. You’ve had your jest.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Constable. I really am an acolyte, even if you can’t believe it. My myojin has given me a very clear mission in life, and I can’t accomplish it without one of Konda’s moths.”

“You’re lucky your patron spirit just gives orders instead of tearing you to pieces. It’s not even safe to worship most spirits anymore.”

“My point exactly. We don’t want to make the spirits any angrier than they already are, right? Give me what my myojin demands and you’ll never see me again.”

“Never. Leave this place, now. I won’t give you another chance.”

“You don’t have any chances to give, my friend. It’s not up to you.”

The old man trembled. “I have but to raise my voice-”

“-to cause a great echo. Come on, Constable. Now who’s blowing smoke?” Toshi smiled and then puffed another cloud of snow through pursed lips. “There’s no one here to answer your call. And even if there were, Isamaru here is the only real fighter left in the fortress.”

“That may be true,” Aoyama said. “But at least he is already here.”

“Not for long.”

“Longer than you. Isamaru! Attack!”

The big dog was well trained. He snarled as he leaped for Toshi’s arm, his powerful jaws capable of crushing bone to powder in a single bite.

As he stepped back, Toshi wondered why he seemed to be having so much trouble with dogs lately. Isamaru did not allow him time to find the answer, so the ochimusha waved his arm in a circle as Isamaru hit him, tangling the dog’s teeth in the folds of his sleeve. He wrapped the loose-fitting fabric around the top of Isamaru’s nose as he caught the heavy dog against his chest and shoulder. Quick as a mousetrap, Toshi slammed the dog’s jaws shut and kept them closed by pulling the fabric tight around Isamaru’s face like a muzzle.

Toshi’s foot plunged into a shadow cast by Aoyama’s lantern, and the foot plunged into it. Isamaru’s weight seemed to bear Toshi down into the shadow more quickly than normal, and in less than a second they were both gone.

Aoyama stood blinking in the lantern light. He moved the paper globe closer to the spot where Toshi and Isamaru had vanished, but the pale light revealed only cold, hard ground. The old man hesitated.

“Isamaru?” he said.

“Safe and happy,” Toshi’s voice replied. Aoyama spun in place, swinging the lantern as he went, but there was no sign of the intruder. In the cold glow of the paper globe there were no shadows to conceal him, either.

“He’s probably confused right now,” Toshi continued, still unseen. “But once he stops to sniff around, he’ll find a friendly scent or two. He’ll be fine. Is there anywhere you’d like to go, Constable? I can freeze you like an icicle and leave you here, but I’d be willing to deposit you somewhere comfortable and warm to sit out the rest of the war. It’s up to you.”

“You have taken Eiganjo’s hope,” Aoyama said miserably. “Yosei is like a god, but Isamaru was our own defender, born and bred in the fortress. Return him at once!”

“Trust me,” Toshi’s voice said. “He’s much happier where he is now.”

Aoyama dropped his lantern and drew a short sword. The lantern light flickered, then expired, leaving only the moon’s silver-blue tint. With his jitte in one hand and a blade in the other, the old man said, “I will not abandon my duty to the daimyo.”

Toshi’s voice was unperturbed. “Fair enough.” He materialized like a ghost one step behind Aoyama, strode forward, and then tapped the handle of his jitte behind the constable’s left ear. The old man groaned softly, and as he crumpled to the ground his eyes rolled back in his head.

Toshi stood silently for a moment, listening for any other sentries and spinning his jitte. Finally, he turned to face the constable.

“You’re a brave man,” he said to Aoyama’s supine form, “but a dismal constable.”

Then Toshi turned and went quickly into the building. The first floor was some kind of warehouse. It was built for storage, but these days there was barely a cartload of grain in heavy sacks and a small supply of fresh water in clay jars. Toshi searched until he found a stack of small wooden boxes piled neatly at the foot of the stairway. Each box was filled with what appeared to be soft grayish bricks. He pulled one of the bricks out, inspected it, and nodded. With a grunt, Toshi hauled a box onto his shoulder and climbed the staircase in the center of the room.

The strange musical sound was louder and clearer on the second floor. Toshi put the wooden box down as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in between the ceiling slats overhead.

Roughly a dozen gigantic moths were here, housed in individual stalls twenty feet wide. Their broad, flat wings sparkled eerily in the gloom, leaving faint trails of iridescent powder in the air. Each was large enough to carry three grown men and strong enough to bear a month’s worth of rations for each. As they raised and lowered their wings, a glittering breeze swirled around the stable and the air echoed with their burbling song.

Toshi walked along the row of stables, appraising each moth in turn. He had ridden such great beasts before and knew how to spot the strong ones. In the second to last stall, he found one to his liking.

It was one of the largest, and its wings were covered in a colorful collage of pale yellow, brilliant orange, and gleaming white. Its body was thick and sturdy, its movements solid and strong. Here was a steed that could carry the burden Toshi had in mind.

He went back to the wooden box and brought it into the moth’s stall. Toshi tore off a piece from one of the gray bricks, thinking once again of how the soft and spongy material reminded him of moist bread. The moths were intelligent creatures, as much as dogs and horses, but they still responded best to food.

Toshi held the gray mass in front of the moth’s head. It inspected the stuff for a moment before plunging its sharp proboscis in. Within a few seconds, it had sucked all the moisture out of the material, leaving only a thin membrane in Toshi’s hand.

Toshi patted the great moth and it trilled happily. He unlatched the stall door and opened it, revealing the clear, calm courtyard below. Then he retrieved a bridle and reins from a hook on the wall and slipped them over the moth’s head. He lashed a saddle to the moth’s back and tied the wooden box full of moth food into a leather harness that fit behind the saddle.

“Steady, now,” Toshi said. He climbed onto the moth and eased into the saddle. Without being prodded, the moth rose on its legs and began to beat its wings more forcefully. It skittered forward and hopped out of its stall. Toshi’s stomach dropped.

Before they could fall, the moth’s great wings caught the air, and it swooped, skimming the ground. Toshi pulled up on the reins, and the moth burbled again, picking up speed and height as it soared silently through the huge hole in Eiganjo’s stone walls.

For a moment, Toshi watched the moth’s shadow on the ground far below. To someone down there, he and his steed would be silhouetted against the gleaming half-moon. He wondered if the daimyo’s people would be heartened by such a majestic sight or frightened by the strangeness of it.

Toshi glanced up at the great half-circle glowing so brightly in the skies over Eiganjo.

“Soon,” he whispered. “Your turn will come soon.”