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Chapter Text

“I am leaving next week to go visit Motohiro-san,” Saito said. He and Jiromasu were sharing a pot of tea after a vigorous training session and Jiromasu was basking in the sense of accomplishment that came from tired muscles after sustained exertion. 

“Please convey my great respect and fond memories to my old tea-master,” Jiromasu said, smiling at the thought of the quiet, punctilious Asahina. He had learned much from the man and had spent many hours in his company. And he was aware now of just how much the instructor at the Kakita school where he had trained had been impressed by the serious, quiet young Kakita who had sought out the peace and tranquility of the tea room so often. The school gave a broad education, the better to prepare its graduates for the richness of what it meant to be Crane, but for the young, energetic Kakita bushi at the school, the sword-play and training and the more physical tests of strength and agility were generally more appealing. Few had shown a dedication to pursuing perfection in the art of the tea ceremony.

Saito nodded. “I could do that,” he agreed. “Or, if you are interested, you could come with me and present your compliments in person.”

Jiromasu considered his mentor’s words. To be invited to travel with Kakita Saito was a great honour and to refuse would be impolitic, though he was also sure that the other Kakita would not be offended. He had duties that bound him here to Chisana Basho, but Saito would not have extended the invitation if he had not already cleared the absence with Doji Uki - or at least been certain that such an absence would be approved. Honour and caution might likewise have reason to cause him to decline. He was in town right now because Kagami had required the Phoenix library, so he and Nami had brought her down to Kiri no Machi from Yoriki House. The fact that his cousin seemed to manage to find trouble whenever he left her side was a pattern that it was hard to ignore, and he was sworn to her protection. However, that was no longer solely his responsibility, for Nami was likewise assigned as her yojimbo, both because, as Nami had commented once, trouble followed his cousin around like a heedless lover, and also because Doji Uki had recognized in Jiromasu the potential for considerable political strength, a strength that it would be hard to cultivate if his cousin’s safety was his primary care. So Nami’s presence, initially a necessity when Jiromasu had first requested her aid, and then a convenience, was now a permanent addition to their group that gave Jiromasu the flexibility to consider options like travelling with one of the most politically connected men in the province to the Kakita school he had once trained at.

And there was also the fact that Jiromasu found himself really wanting to go. A wave of nostalgia to see the training grounds again, to greet his old instructors, washed over him. To sit and share a tea ceremony with Asahina Motohiro-sama in company with Kakita Saito-sama was very appealing. As was the idea of sparring with Sensei Yataro, the Kakita duelling master, to see if he had managed to progress his skills enough to challenge the older man. He had no illusions about successfully besting him, but Yataro-sama was always good about acknowledging progress toward the daydream that all the students of the school had of beating the speed with which the man could draw his blade. He was never effusive, Jiromasu was not sure he had ever seen the stern man smile, but the tiny nod as you successfully progressed a skill had been a mark of recognition that they had all striven for.

“I would be honoured to join you,” Jiromasu said. “I find that I have a great desire to see the school once more. To see how it, and I, have changed since I left it.”

Such a journey might also help him with deciding how he wanted to progress his life, he thought as the visit came to an end and he left Kakita Saito’s compact, elegant little house and walked through the streets of Kiri no Machi to collect his cousin from the Isawa library. He was at a crossroads, and it was a challenging one to decide which route to take. He knew what Doji Uki wished of him. Knew that she intended for him to continue gaining in influence within the province, moving in the political waters of Chisana Basho and potentially beyond. And it was something that he was good at. He was good at seeing the currents of interest and desire that drove others. At how people twisted and turned to face towards or away from the pressures, ideas, or events around them. At what the outcomes might be of exerting pressure in a certain way, in providing two options and knowing which a person might take and what would be required for them to take the alternate path. He had a talent for persuasion that was not common in a political landscape that was so heavily dependent on rank and reputation. And he enjoyed the game of it. Enjoyed the puzzle of how people thought and how they reacted. At what made them choose to act one way or another, even if he was so frequently disappointed by their lack of adherence to some of the tenets of bushido.

But he also knew himself. He was driven by perfection, by elevating his technique towards flawless execution. And there was a tension within himself, a core of ruthlessness that underlay his adherence to compassion, to the understanding that any number of complex events were involved when he found himself in opposition to someone else. That accident, or fate, or happenstance could change the course of a person’s life. And people could change, especially when they had the ability to exercise power. And the pursuit of perfection in how he wielded influence and political power could so easily turn to ambition and blind ambition could turn one from the path of compassion, of honesty, and even of honour. 

The other option was that he turn from the political path he had been walking along and withdraw from the game of politics - in as much as any Crane could - to focus on perfecting blade and form. Of the spiritual and artistic pursuits that were equally part of the Crane legacy. And he could see fulfillment in that path as well. Much as Saito-sama had focused on his poetry and his blade, leaving the political elements to the Doji he adored, supporting her in her endeavours but himself somewhat apart from them. That was a path as well, to focus on the pursuit of excellence as a duellist. To embrace the physical and mental discipline involved in training to become even more skilled, more deadly, with the Moonlit Blade and focus on his duty to the province and his cousin.

His cousin. The liveried heimin servant had gone to fetch her once he had arrived and eventually returned with her. She was blinking in a way that told him that she had been consumed by her reading and hadn’t come up for air since he had left her here more than five hours previously. He raised an eyebrow at her and she smiled up at him.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked.

“Not yet,” Kagami replied. They stepped outside and walked off down the street. It wasn’t until they had left the library a few blocks behind them that he felt her hand tuck itself into the crook of his elbow. And he suddenly realized that he had been walking with his arm bent, his hand resting on the top of his obi, so that her hand had a place to land, knowing that she would reach for him. He smiled a little. Such was the way of habit.

They stopped at a tea house for tea and a light meal - since ensuring that Kagami had eaten and drunk when lost in research had shown itself early on to be one of the required duties of her yojimbo -  and Jiromasu considered her as she sipped her tea, her expression somewhat abstracted as she continued to ponder what she had learned in the library. She was a conundrum, so entwined with his life that it did not make sense to consider his future without considering her role in it. And he would be lying if his concerns regarding her weren’t part of his uncertainty regarding whether to continue his path into politics. Because she was a potent political tool and her potential was all but untapped. Indeed, of those in Chisana Basho’s political waters, only he really knew the extent of her strengths and her abilities, and even there his understanding was incomplete. Even Doji Uki, with all they had told her and all she had no doubt gleaned from other sources, did not know everything that had happened and had not actually asked. And Jiromasu’s reports had been circumspect about his cousin’s part in events and the powers she could wield. 

She was muttering to herself, a tiny frown creasing her brow as she argued with an author whose work she had replaced on its shelf some half hour ago and his lips twitched in amusement. She always said she did not have time for, or a head for, politics - much to her Doji mother’s disapprobation. But she was intelligent enough to understand that, while she might be bewildered by court politics, she could not escape them and that who and what she was meant that, like it or not, her very existence was political. Her response to that, Jiromasu thought with a sigh, had been to make it his problem. She trusted him. Trusted him to keep her safe both physically and in the shifting quicksand of Rokugani politics. She knew that she was a tool that others would seek to use and so had placed herself into his hands. It was a heady, terrifying truth that one of the most unique shugenja of their generation would do anything he asked of her, all but unquestioningly, because she trusted him to protect all that she was... her person, her influence, her reputation, her honour, her happiness, and her soul.

There were moments in the darkness of the night where he sometimes resented the weight of that burden. That blithe assumption that he would make such decisions for the both of them and the abdication of responsibility that allowed her to simply dismiss the whole complicated mess from her mind. But in the daylight hours, seeing her happy and healthy, he found it hard to hold on to that irritation. Especially when he considered the difficulties that watching her try and make those decisions for herself would involve as he had to respond to her missteps. She would no doubt learn with time, but the learning curve would be steep and could cause untold damage along the way. 

If he were to decide to continue his path as Doji Uki was encouraging, to continue to pursue influence and political power, his cousin was both a potent asset and also a significant vulnerability. There were so many opportunities made possible both by who and what she was and also through her power and control over the kami and the Void. And many of those opportunities were perfectly honourable and would not raise even a hint of concern among his friends. And there were also many ways to use her powers that were far more morally grey, and those scared him far more, for they were a dangerous temptation. How much would it take for him to consider using her abilities in that way? How much could he ask before she balked at his requests? How much would it take for him to convince himself, and her, of the need for those actions? There was a reason they had kept many of her abilities from their reports; she was too low ranked, as of yet, to be able to resist an order from a Clan member of superior status to use those powers in their favour. Yet if he asked her, would she even hesitate?

There was also the fact that it was clear to those that knew him, or knew of him, that Kagami was important to him. As such, as his own reputation grew and he became more of a target for those who wished to maintain or increase their own power bases and who might see him as a threat, she became an avenue by which they could attack him or force him into particular courses of action. So far, he had only had to deal with the incidental political fallout of the events that had befallen Kagami, though he had been initially concerned that some of them had been politically motivated. But he knew that the day would come where someone would attempt to use her as a weapon against him. It did not make his choices any easier to know that increasing his influence would make it easier to protect her from the unscrupulous. And it would also increase her profile, thus bringing her even more to their notice.

Her brow eased from its furrow and he wondered if she had won or lost her argument with the scroll’s author. She blinked up at him and he was aware that he finally had her actual attention.

“How was your training with Saito-sama, Jiromasu?” she asked as they rose, left the teahouse, and continued towards the Diplomatic Pavillion. 

“It was satisfying,” he said. “Saito-sama is planning on travelling to the Kakita school where I was trained to visit with Asahina Motohiro-sama.”

“The one who brought you to Saito-sama’s notice,” Kagami confirmed. Jiromasu nodded. “It is a long-standing friendship, is it not?”

“Since they were young men,” Jiromasu agreed. He paused and glanced at his cousin. “He has invited me to go with him.”

He was looking right at her, so he saw the brief flash of consternation in her eyes before she firmly quashed her sense of dismay at his potential absence. “Of course you must go,” she said firmly.” She paused for a moment. “You do want to, do you not?”

“I do,” he acknowledged, wondering if she would want to visit the Isawa school again, if given the chance. She had been far more isolated from the other students than he had been and, while he had not made many friends, most had been friendly towards him. Kagami’s time at her school had been rather more fraught, he knew.

“Then you must go,” she said. She caught his eye and read his hesitation. She pulled her fan from where it was tucked in her obi and gave the wrist of the arm she was holding a sharp rap. “Stop that. I will be fine.” She frowned in thought, considering the distance from Chisana Basho to the Kakita dojo. “The school is not all that far from Chisana Basho. Within range of the Air kami. I will send you a messenger bird each day, if it gives you peace of mind.”

“You are content to be left with Nami-san again?” he asked, not completely willing to acknowledge the fact that her doing so might very well settle the part of him that was permanently dedicated to monitoring his cousin’s wellbeing.

“She is an attentive yojimbo and friend,” Kagami said. “And Goro-san and Tetsunotaka-san will be around when we return to Yoriki House. When does Saito-sama intend to leave?”

“Next week.”

“So you can put us on the boat back to Yoriki House and then head out. Do you know how long he intends to stay?”

“A week, I believe.”

She patted his wrist where she had previously smacked it with her fan. “I am pleased for you, Jiromasu. It is an honour to have been invited.”

He nodded. It was.

***

Akodo Chomei set himself again, the bokken held at the precise angle he had been shown, his feet placed just so. Fuming with aggravation, he shut out his awareness of the Kakita boys who surrounded him, all younger than he was and seemingly effortlessly falling into stance. He would master this kata. He was older than them. More years of experience and training. Not training in the kata the Kakita learned, but martial training of any kind made these skills easier to pick up. That is what his aunt had assured him, when he had been traded to the Kakita for his father’s release. 

Part of the agreement in the hostage exchange had been that the Kakita family who had ransomed his father would ensure that Chomei’s martial training continued. Chomei was still not sure whether sending him to the Kakita school was a mark of respect - it was a prestigious school - or a deliberate slight to the Akodo, as he was joining several years later than most students and thus had been relegated to classes with the youngest initiates when it became clear he was not able to keep up with his age-mates due to the differences in their training and the expectation that he conform to Kakita forms and kata.

There had been any amount of snickering from his peers regarding that, and Chomei had had to defend his honour several times already, though the boys were forbidden from duelling with their bokken and so he had had to resort to his fists. He sighed and focused on the precise series of movements needed to cleanly perform this kata. He was determined to have perfected it by day’s end. To have internalized the differences in balance and the intent behind the blows. To understand the reason for what each move intended and how it would later flow into other movement patterns.

He finished the kata and held the final pose, then swore silently in the privacy of his head as he felt a tap on his rear foot and he shifted it into the proper orientation.

“Again.”

“Hai.”

Chomei ran through the kata again, breathing a sigh of relief when he was not corrected, then again and again, seeking to turn the movements fluid, thoughtless. To move towards such ingrained understanding that he would not need to think, could just react, flowing from movement to movement in an effortless dance of death. That was how a Lion fought… savagery unleashed.

He had been a hostage to his family’s adherence to the peace treaty for almost a year now - an honoured guest his foster family called it, though Chomei found the whole obfuscation of his true status to be a grating piece of Crane flummery, even if it was to be expected. He had been sent to the Kakita school only recently, and Chomei was glumly sure that they had waited that long to be certain that he would not shame them with inadequate manners or an uncertain temper.

His temper was certainly being tested, he thought irritably, as the session ended and he saw that a few of the older boys had been watching them. They were smirking, but were far more restrained in their mockery than usual, possibly due to the presence of the two unfamiliar full Kakita who were also watching the training yard, one older and one younger. The older man was perhaps a little older than his father, his dark hair just beginning to silver at the temples, and he leaned casually against the railing, his face relaxed and mildly interested. It was a little harder to tell the younger man’s age, since he ascribed to the Crane fashion of dying his hair white, but he was probably in his early twenties. His hair was shorn short on the sides and drawn up into a top knot and Chomei realised with a surge of embarrassment that the man had been watching Chomei in particular. His face was unreadable, but as he caught Chomei’s eye he gave a slight nod to the boy that left him feeling unbalanced. There had been nothing dismissive about that nod. It had been one of acknowledgement. Not friendly, precisely, but certainly not mocking.

There was no clue to be found regarding who the men were. They had appeared to watch the students training and then disappeared again. From listening to the others during the evening meal, he learned they had arrived that morning and had spent time that afternoon with Master Motohiro, the etiquette and tea-ceremony instructor. Why that master should have been their first place to visit, Chomei was unsure. Both of the men had moved with the lethal grace he knew came from years of practice with a blade. Why such visitors would immediately seek out fussy little Asahina Motohiro made little sense. 

After the evening meal, the students were given free time. Chomei had discovered that this was a dangerous time of day, for in this period of idleness, the boys sought out entertainment and, far too often, that entertainment seemed to consist of goading him into having to defend his honour. He assumed that eventually he would have bested enough of them that the activity would lose its appeal, but it was certainly not improving his opinion of the Crane. He made his way down to the flat grassy space beside the river. The others did not often seek him out; usually, it was when they had accidentally run across him that things turned violent. The flats were far enough away from the main compound that the others rarely bothered to come down here, so it had become his place of refuge. 

He sighed, watching the ducks for a while as they played hide and seek in the reeds or dabbled for their dinner. Ducks, at least, were the same no matter where in Rokugan you were. His mood was turning sour and he had learned that indulging in the thoughts that came with that darkening of his mind increased his anger and the chance of him lashing out at the verbal taunts of the other boys and he had been trying not to give them the rash, violent stereotype of a Lion that they were expecting. In an effort to shake off the malaise, he moved into the opening posture of Lion’s Roar and began to run through the familiar kata his family had taught him, smooth and fluid and effortless the way the Kakita kata were not. He did not want to lose them, and if he never practiced them, that would eventually occur. He might have to learn new, Crane ways of doing everything, but he was not willing to lose this part of himself. After Lion’s Roar , he moved on to Tooth and Claw , then Akodo’s Second Strike. If… when … he was allowed to return to his family, he knew he was going to have a great deal to learn - as much as he was having to learn now with the Crane, if not more - but he did not want to be any further behind than he absolutely must be. Which meant holding on to what knowledge he had of his family’s traditions and training. And he had been good . He might not be able to keep up with his peers among the Crane when it came to Kakita training - at least not yet - but he had easily been the best of the Akodo youth at home.

It had been part of what had made him an acceptable hostage when they had ransomed his father.

There was the sound of someone moving towards him down the sloping bank and he spun around, hands raised, startled to have been interrupted. His hands dropped as he recognized the younger of the Kakita men who had been watching the training grounds, though he remained cautious. He didn’t think the man would attack him - the Kakita masters had been courteous, even if several of them had been impatient with his limitations - but he was an unknown and Chomei had not expected to have to deal with anything other than his own thoughts down here by the river.

“Kakita-sama,” Chomei said, remembering his manners and bowing to the man.

There was an odd little half-smile tugging at the Kakita’s mouth as he returned the bow. Chomei almost started to bristle, but there was something in the Kakita’s eyes or possibly his posture that soothed the snarling anger in him that had been dealing with Crane mockery for the past few months. “Akodo-kun,” the Kakita said. “You are Akodo Chomei, I understand? I am Kakita Jiromasu.”

“I am,” Chomei said, biting down on the urge to ask if there were any other Akodo to be found in the Kakita school. That would be rude and he had no desire to be disciplined for rudeness. That would hardly bring honour to his name or family.

Jiromasu nodded and took a moment to look out over the river, then he glanced over at Chomei. “I spent a great deal of time down here, when I was at the school. It is a peaceful place, yet few come here. A place where one’s thoughts can come uninterrupted by the presence of others.”

Of course the man had been a student here. Chomei’s eyes suddenly widened as he realized he had heard the name Jiromasu before. Kakita Jiromasu had graduated from the school several years earlier, choosing Jiromasu to replace his childhood name of Toji, long enough ago that the oldest students had only the barest of memories of him. He had been a prodigy, exceptionally talented with his blade, and his feats of skill were still talked of by both instructors and students. He swallowed and flushed. This man had seen him ranked with the youngest students, struggling to smoothly execute what were basic Kakita kata. He looked away, shifting awkwardly on his feet. The man had clearly come down here to relive some memory from his time at the school. Chomei should leave him to it, but he was not quite certain how to politely remove himself from this situation. The Kakita’s statement had seemed like he was inviting a response, but Chomei was not sure what to say. It was true that he could find uninterrupted thought down here. For Chomei, that was not always a good thing.

“Catch!”

Startled, Chomei looked up and only just managed to catch the stick Jiromasu had tossed at him. It was straight, about an inch thick, and as long as the man’s arm. The Kakita also held a stick of similar length and weight, having clearly pulled them from a clump of trees just to one side. That same slight smile still tugged at the man’s lips.

“I didn’t expect to find you down here,” Jiromasu said. “So I didn’t think to bring bokken with me. An unpardonable oversight.” He glanced at the sticks and gave a little grimace. “They will not be the right weight, but it could be worse. And as they are unfamiliar to both of us, it gives neither of us an advantage.”

“Kakita-sama?” Chomei stared at Jiromasu. It sounded like the man wanted to fight him. But… but that made no sense. Unless this was some strange form of humiliation. Chomei was good with a sword - regardless of what his peers thought - but he was in no way a match for a fully trained Kakita prodigy.

Jiromasu tipped his head, giving Chomei a piercing look that felt like it saw to the depths of his soul. “I thought,” he said gently, “that you might like the chance to fight like an Akodo, rather than as a Crane.” The half-smile widened a little. “I cannot fight like an Akodo, but you will not be the first Akodo I have sparred with.”

That did not sound like someone intent on humiliation. That sounded rather like an offer made in kindness. Uncertain if he could trust it, Chomei nevertheless bowed to the inevitability of it and settled into stance.

“Do not go easy on me, Chomei-kun,” Jiromasu said, still with that little smirk in place. Chomei glared at him, half-insulted. As if he could do anything but try his absolute best in this sparring session. It was Akodo versus Kakita. Lion versus Crane. Nothing but his absolute best was acceptable. He was going to lose, of course he was going to lose, but he was going to do his best to show this man that his skill at Kakita kata was not indicative of his skill with a blade. The Kakita’s smirk widened at whatever Chomei’s expression had done. “Begin!”

Chomei immediately lunged forward, stick darting out towards the Kakita’s undefended left flank. Except there was a sharp clack as Jiromasu’s stick was suddenly there, so fast that Chomei genuinely hadn’t seen it move. He gritted his teeth and settled in for the bout. It was soon clear that the Kakita was not seeking to win, though he certainly was not allowing Chomei to do so either. Instead, he was matching Chomei’s skill level, giving him openings to try for and pushing to make Chomei move into defense, allowing the spar to move back and forth between them, and Chomei found himself relaxing into the flow of the match. 

It was the most fun he’d had since coming to Crane lands.

Eventually, Jiromasu stepped back, raising his stick and one hand, calling the spar to an end. “Thank you, Chomei-kun,” he said. “I am honoured to have crossed…” he glanced at the stick and quirked an eyebrow, “sticks with you.”

Chomei let out a bark of laughter. “I am honoured to have had the chance to spar with the famed Kakita Jiromasu-sama,” he said. “The older students speak of you as some kind of legendary hero who bested all comers.”

Jiromasu’s eyebrow rose again. “Hardly, though I was a good student who worked hard and had the skill to profit by that effort. It will require at least a few more years for me to reach the status of legendary hero.” He sat down on the grass and looked out at where a murmur of starlings was dancing against the setting sun. “Though I will admit that there were none among the students who could best me in the practice ring.”

Chomei hesitated a moment, then sat down beside the Kakita, watching the birds twist and turn, order out of chaos. “It will be some time before I will be able to best my peers,” he said, sighing.

Jiromasu glanced over at him. “As a Kakita duellist, yes,” he agreed, and Chomei felt a cold misery at the words until the man continued talking. “But if you continue with what I have observed today, faster than most of your instructors would believe. Certainly faster than the other students might expect. You haven’t practiced your Akodo kata around them, have you?”

Chomei swallowed. He hadn’t, afraid he might be banned from doing so in order to speed his acclimation to the Kakita way of doing things. He wondered if Jiromasu would report him to his instructors and if he would be forbidden from practicing. “No.”

Jiromasu nodded and his next words were ones that Chomei would not have predicted. “It can be hard, being the only one of your clan among strangers,” he said. “The difficulty of holding true to one’s clan and family while being required to adjust to different expectations is no easy feat. My Asahina cousin attended the Isawa school. She has told me something of the experience. And my Daidoji friend was sent to live with the Crab, with the Kuni no less, directly after his gempukku. A different situation, but no less a case of being a stranger in a strange land.” He glanced over at Chomei, who was staring at him, unable to speak against the tight knot of emotion in his chest. “Neither has spoken a great deal about the experience, but both had to find ways to hold on to who they were, as they navigated who they were to become.”

“I am Akodo,” Chomei blurted, that sense of defiance overcoming the tightness in his throat, then flushed with embarrassment at having displayed such emotion.

Jiromasu merely nodded at the outburst. “And you will continue to be Akodo, though you will be an Akodo with Kakita training.” His lips quirked. “Perhaps you will even end up being thankful for that training, eventually.” He plucked a broad blade of grass and began to slowly tear it into long, thin strips. “But it will always mark you as unusual. And that can be both a blessing and a curse.”

“I am aware that it is a great honour to attend the Kakita school,” Chomei said hastily. He had not meant to be offensive and, no matter how much he might resent the treatment he was receiving from his peers and the humiliation of being placed with the youngest students, he knew that being sent away from the school would bring great shame on himself and his family.

Jiromasu’s expression was difficult to read, thoughtful and intense. “Hold onto that,” he said, quietly. “Meditate on it, when the fact that this is not your choice or your preference threatens to overwhelm you. We do not always have control over what circumstances we must face, but we can determine how we face them.” His expression softened, his lips tipping back up into that odd little half-smile that did a good job of hiding the man’s intensity. “I look forward to seeing you among the top of your class in time and proving your detractors categorically wrong.”

Chomei swallowed. Those words had been sincere and he suddenly jerked his eyes away from the Kakita as the man stood, realizing he had been staring in consternation at a Kakita who was anticipating with pleasure a Lion holding a place of honour in the Kakita duellist’s school. Who was this man?

The sky was beginning to darken and Jiromasu looked down at him. “Time to return to the school, I think,” he said. “If I remember my own school days correctly, you will be expected in the dormitory soon. I would not have you scolded for tardiness because you lingered in conversation with me.”

Chomei obediently scrambled to his feet and followed the Kakita back up the slope. It wasn’t until he found himself stepping into the dormitory that he realized that he still held the stick he had sparred with, quickly shoving it beneath his sleeping mat before anyone thought to question him about it.

Chapter Text

Jiromasu sipped at his sake and considered the men and women in the school’s staff common room. Most were his old instructors, and it was distinctly odd to be relaxing and socializing with them. He had to keep restraining himself from the mannerisms of childhood that wanted to reassert themselves with the familiarity of tone and expression. There were a few new faces, but they were far outnumbered by the ones he recognized. Beside him, Saito laughed at something Asahina Motohiro said. 

“Ekei-san, I taught that lesson last time. It is your turn.” Kakita Dayu, the literature lecturer, was saying as he entered the room, glaring at his fellow Kakita.

“I taught it twice last year,” Ekei replied. “I do not particularly wish to repeat the experience.” The younger man walked over to where the sake was sitting beside the hearth and poured himself a cup. He glanced over at Dayu, hesitated, then sighed and poured him a cup as well.

Dayu accepted the sake, lips pursed as he acknowledged the other man’s words. “I challenge you to a game of Go.” he said. “Loser teaches the class.”

Ekei considered the man, then nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said. “But with such great stakes involved…” he snagged the bottle of sake. “We will be drinking heavily.”

The two men moved over to the side of the room where a Go board was set up and pulled the lids off the baskets of stones. Soon, they were both focused on the game, drinking steadily as they glared at the board.

“Which class is so contentious?” Jiromasu asked Asahina Motohiro.

Motohiro glanced over at the two Kakita hunched over the game board, and snorted. “It is the lectures on decorum and appropriate relations with those of the opposite sex,” he said.

Ah. That made sense. Jiromasu nodded his understanding as he remembered those excruciating lessons from his school years. “I am surprised that you are not expected to give them. Would they not be considered an extension of etiquette?”

Motohiro leaned forward to refill their sake glasses and smiled. “I am senior enough to enable me to avoid such an expectation. I am still inclined to think we should have Yarato-san give the lectures.”

Jiromasu tried to picture the stern-faced Kakita Yarato providing such lessons and just could not manage it. Yarato himself, having heard his name, glanced up from his conversation with the Doji who taught pottery to those students interested in learning the skill. His habitual dour expression did not relax in the less formal confines of the staff common room and his eyes narrowed as he regarded the Asahina instructor. Motohiro gave him a pleasant smile and tipped his head in a polite bow. Beside him, Saito gave a tiny huff of laughter, his eyes sparkling though his face maintained a neutral expression, and Jiromasu could suddenly picture his two teachers together as young men, both inclined towards making ripples and observing the results with interest. They had, he was certain, gotten up to a great deal of mischief. 

Asahina Nahomi, the school’s sole shugenja and the matron of the school’s infirmary where she ruled with an absolute power that even the dojo’s Master Sensei did not question, looked up from her embroidery frame. “I do not care who gives the lessons,” she said, her tone acerbic. “I only ask that they do so in a way that causes the young fools to listen and to adhere to the standards expected of a samurai. That they leave the lessons with an understanding of the word discretion and an awareness of the simple fact that bushi can still have babies. It is one thing to have one of the heimin village girls increasing. It is quite another to have to send one of our initiates home with that dishonour hanging over her. It reflects poorly on all those involved.”

Jiromasu grimaced at the thought, suddenly remembering one of the Kakita girls he had trained with who, they had been told, had fallen ill and had to return home to her family. Asahina Nahomi’s comment suggested that such an illness might well have been preventable. The conversation turned as Motohiro asked regarding the health of one of the other students, who had discovered a large patch of poison ivy by, apparently characteristically, falling out of a tree into it. Luckily, the boy had not broken anything and had merely sustained a bad case of itchy welts for his clumsiness. 

“As long as he doesn’t try and climb the main tower,” Motohiro sighed. “Falling from that might well break his head, rather than just his arm like last time. I am at a loss on how to cure his lack of physical grace. He’s good enough with a blade, but if he does not have one in his hand, he is tripping over his own feet and stumbling into walls. His time with the dance instructor does not seem to have helped.”

“He is currently banned from my classroom,” Asahina Tsukimi agreed, shaking her head. “He managed to trip and not only stumble into the classroom’s wall, but take two other students with him. The weight of all three of them was enough to make stumbling into a wall become stumbling through a wall.”

“Has anyone successfully scaled the central tower yet this year?” Saito asked and Jiromasu suddenly realized that the teachers at the Kakita school were far more aware of what was going on among their students than he had understood growing up here. It was something of a rite of passage, the clandestine practice of sneaking out of their beds to climb the building’s walls, trying to make it all the way to the top of the high tower. It was not an easy climb, and the risk of getting caught made the thrill of it all even more enticing. It required dexterity and strength and nerve, and Jiromasu had revelled in the challenge. He was one of only three from his year to have made it all the way to the top and he had felt a sense of deep accomplishment as he had scratched his name and the date into the time-blackened beams alongside those of the winners from the past. He snorted to himself. Some of those dates had been from years long ago. No doubt some of the participants were now instructors here. Of course they knew.

“No one yet,” Motohiro said. “I would put money on Iseki-chan being the first to make it this year.”

“Kakita Iseki-chan?” Yarato’s frown deepened. “Really? I would have said Kakita Atsumori-kun. He is by far the stronger.”

“Yet much bulkier as well,” Motohiro said. “Iseki is also strong, and her reach is almost as great as his, so her lighter frame is more of an advantage. Five zeni on Iseki.” 

Yarato considered the etiquette instructor, then nodded. “Five on Atsumori.”

Nahomi rose from where she had returned to working on her embroidery and walked over to where a scroll and an ink-pot and brush sat on a shelf by the window. She pulled it down and spread it open on the desk. “Five zeni each on Iseki and Atsumori,” she said, noting the bets down. She glanced around the room. “Is there anyone else who wishes to wager on this year’s climbers?”

There was some laughter, but no one else seemed inclined to place a bet on the outcome. She nodded, cleaning off the brush and putting away the scroll, then returning to her seat, leaving Jiromasu to consider the fact that apparently the school’s instructors habitually placed bets on their students’ behaviour.

“Did I make you money or lose you money, Motohiro-sama?” he asked.

Motohiro glanced over at him and smiled. “It was generally safer to bet on you than against you, Jiromasu-san,” he said. “I learned that fairly early on.”

The Dojo Master, Kakita Sugu, entered the room, a letter in his hand and a frown on his face. The room quickly fell silent, respectful attention turned to man. Even Ekei and Dayu, whose Go game had gotten progressively louder as the level in the sake bottle dropped, paused to see what the school’s First had to say.

“I have a request here from Akodo Chomei’s family. It has been passed on to me by his foster family, with their approval if the school is willing to undertake the task. It appears that his eldest sister is to be married and the Akodo have requested that he return to his family for a short visit so that he might be there to honour his sister and the ancestors.”

There was a long moment of silence. 

“He has only recently arrived,” Yarato said, breaking the quiet. “And it took some time before we realized he would not be able to keep pace with his age-mates and reassigned him to learn the basics. He is determined to learn, but he is early in his training. Interrupting it would be damaging to his ability to progress and succeed.”

“Yet he is from a province currently in a contracted peace with the Crane. A peace that is still young. Denying this request might undermine that state of affairs and weaken Doji Uki’s hold on our new province,” Doji Masiko, the politics and courtly graces lecturer said, tapping his fan thoughtfully against one hand.

“If he were to go, he would be traveling under the school’s protection. We are in the midst of the school term. Do we even have anyone who could take the boy?” Asahina Nahomi asked. “It would not do to send him with just heimin attendants.”

There was a murmuring around the room as people looked one to the other. It was quickly clear that the Asako’s chances of going to visit his family were dwindling quickly. Jiromasu pursed his lips, remembering Kagami’s thankfulness when she had been granted leave to come home for her grandmother’s funeral. It had been a relief to her, to be among family and clan. And he had not missed seeing the healing bruises on the Akodo’s face and the scuffs on his knuckles. The boy had been wary and polite, not surly or combative, in his interactions with Jiromasu, but he would guess that the school, or at least its students, had not been welcoming to the Lion in their midst.

“Asako Chomei’s family is from the Lion province to the north of Chisana Basho?” he asked Motohiro.

“Yes.” Motohiro nodded. “Though the battle in which his father was captured was elsewhere in Rokugan. His father is Akodo Aromoro.”

Jiromasu nodded. He had heard of Akodo Aromoro, though he did not know much of him. He was a neutral party regarding the peace treaty with the Crane since he had returned, according to what Jiromasu knew, neither opposing it, nor speaking in its favour. 

“Sensei Sugu-sama,” Jiromasu said, speaking almost before he was aware he intended to, “if the school would honour me with the responsibility, I would undertake to escort Akodo Chomei-kun to his home for his sister’s wedding and then return him to the safety of the school. I would also undertake to continue his training in the basics of Kakita swordsmanship while we travelled, that his learning not suffer from his absence. As Masiko-sama said, the peace between Chisana Basho and the Lion in the north is still young. The effort of allowing Chomei-kun to visit would be politically advantageous for the Crane.”

Sugu looked over at Yarato, who shrugged. “Jiromasu-san tutored several of the younger students when he was attending. As well as some of his age-peers. His efforts were successful.”

Jiromasu felt a warmth suffuse him at this acknowledgement of his skill by the sword-master and the man’s tacit agreement that Jiromasu’s efforts would be enough to remove his qualms about the Lion boy visiting his home. It was with some difficulty that he managed to keep his expression relaxed and calm and not end up grinning like a fool. Sugu was looking at Saito now, one eyebrow raised. Technically, Saito was not Jiromasu’s direct superior, though he was of higher rank within the Crane. His place in the province’s hierarchy was much more nebulous, but his presence at Doji Uki’s side gave him a practical authority that should not be discounted and it could be presumed that he would know the Governor’s mind. And Jiromasu was sure that if Saito shook his head, that would finish the Dojo Master’s consideration of Jiromasu as an appropriate escort for Chomei.

There was a pause as Saito considered the issue. Then he nodded.

“Very well, then,” Sugu said, passing the letter over to Jiromasu. “The boy can go.” He nodded at the assembled members of the staff then turned and left again.

“You truly wish to undertake this responsibility?” Saito asked. “I know you trained your cousin in the basics of the blade, but that I can understand.”

Jiromasu considered the man and smiled. “The boy is skilled. And determined. He is behind his age-peers here right now, but I anticipate him making great strides once he has his feet under him and a foundation in the Kakita fighting style. And it does me no harm to have someone with that potential thinking kindly of me for my aid. It may grant me a future ally in him when he is grown; we remember our instructors with respect.”

Saito smiled and toasted him with his sake cup. “I have never had the patience, or the interest, in teaching the basics to the young. And I admire the fact that you play the long game.”

Jiromasu took a sip of his sake and gave a tiny smile. “Not just the long game. One should have a hierarchy of goals, but in this case escorting the boy home accomplishes many things at the same time. I have ingratiated myself with the school, as denying the request would have appeared churlish when his foster family had approved the visit and now Master Sugu-sama can accede to it. I will have provided a service for a Lion family in the north, helping to solidify the peace there, an action that I believe will have Doji Uki-sama’s full approval. I will have positioned myself as a mentor and teacher for a young Lion with considerable potential. And I will have done a kindness for a young samurai who is far from home and missing his family. Any one of those reasons would have been enough to have me consider doing this. All together?” He shrugged.

“Fair enough,” Saito said. “Well, I will look forward to making his acquaintance during our return to Chisana Basho.”

Jiromasu, who had been quickly reading over the letter of request and was pleased to see that it would not impact his visit to the school, nodded, drank down the rest of his sake, then rose. “From what little I have seen of him so far, I think you will also consider him to have potential. It takes a strong mind to hold true when so much around you is different. I should go find him and let him know of what is to come.”

There was a groan from over by the Go board as Ekei acknowledged his defeat. Saito glanced over at where the pair were clearing off the board and then looked over at Motohiro. “A game?” he asked.

Jiromasu left the two men moving over to help reset the board and went looking for Akodo Chomei. Given the time of day, he thought it was likely the boy would be starting to return to the dormitory, if he wasn’t already there, and bent his steps in that direction.

He heard them before he saw them. 

“It must be hard for your family,” the boy’s voice held disdain. “To have to deal with the embarrassment of your father having been taken in battle.”

“There is no dishonour in surrendering to a much larger force,” Jiromasu heard Chomei’s tense voice reply.

“Of course not,” another voice said jeeringly. “But it doesn’t say much about the vaunted Lion courage and ferocity.”

“His decision was tactically sound and brave,” Chomei said, angry fire licking along his words. “If the Lion were truly inclined to mindlessly rush in, to spend their lives on an empty version of honour, the way so many Crane seem to believe, they would not manage nearly as many victories as they do against the Cra… all the other clans.”

There was an inarticulate yell and the sound of blows being traded. Jiromasu sped up, rounding the corner to see four boys flailing at each other with fist and foot. Chomei was holding his own, ducking blows and lashing out with grim determination.

“Enough,” Jiromasu said loudly, putting as much authority into his voice as he could.

The four boys sprang apart, horrified expressions of guilt on their faces. They straightened quickly and bowed low to the Kakita samurai facing them.

“Kakita-sama,” they mumbled.

“This is conduct unbecoming of the dignity of this school,” Jiromasu said sternly. He narrowed his eyes at the three Kikita boys. “You three,” he said, “will go to the dojo’s library tomorrow and read about Kakita Maru and what she achieved by surrendering. Then you will find me in the evening to tell me what you learned about the tactical applications of honourable surrender. Chomei-kun, you will come with me.” Turning his back on the boys to a murmured chorus of “yes, Kakita-sama”s, he stalked off into the darkening twilight. Another pair of footsteps behind him told him that Chomei was scrambling to keep up.

After they had turned a corner, Jiromasu slowed his pace, turning them towards one of the quieter courtyards. He didn’t say anything until they reached a bench on the far side and he sat down, patting the bench to encourage the boy to join him. His face wary, the Akodo sat down beside him. 

“Your family wrote to request permission to have you visit for your sister’s marriage,” Jiromasu said.

There was a long, long moment of silence. The boy’s shock was almost palpable. “They did?” he said, eventually.

“Yes,” Jiromasu said, nodding. “Your foster-family agreed, if the school would allow it.”

Chomei’s expression was agonized. “I have only just come. I have too much to learn.”

“A concern,” Jiromasu acknowledged. “But they have agreed. They had no one they could send with you, but they have done me the honour of determining that I might stand in their place.”

“You… you are going to take me home?”

“And continue your training along the way.” Jiromasu said, nodding.

There was another long moment of stillness, then a look of profound relief washed over the boy’s face, followed by a wave of giddy joy. Jiromasu’s lips twitched. 

“Why?” The boy was clearly pleased, but also bewildered.

Before Jiromasu could answer, there was a flutter of wings and a somewhat disgruntled looking sparrow landed on his shoulder.

“The Kuni…” his cousin’s voice sounded so dryly acerbic, so exasperated-Kagami, that Jiromasu lost his battle with his smile. “The Kuni wants me to cast the Void-seeing spell on him. He wants me to gather up what I see and feel and shove it inside his mind to overwhelm him.” The sparrow shook out its feathers. “He says it will help him understand the Void better.” There was a brief pause. “Which has some small merit, as an argument.” There was another brief pause after which Kagami spoke again, her voice softer and rather resigned. “I will probably do it. But the fact that he wants to at all is just… Argh. Kuni!” There was a shivery feeling of dissipating energy beside him and the bird puffed into the air. He rubbed at his forehead. Kagami had been forgetting that he might not be alone when the Air-spirit messenger arrived. Oh, she hadn’t said anything that would be embarrassing or inappropriate for another to hear, but she was more open, more unguarded, than she ever would have been in their actual presence. And whenever one of her birds arrived, he lived half in distress for his cousin, who would be mortified to know her messages had been overheard by someone other than Jiromasu, half in fear that she might say something that could cause embarrassment or difficulties, though he had no idea what that might be. It was Kagami, however, and she could be relied on to complicate his life.

“What was that?” Chomei asked, eyes wide. 

Jiromasu looked at him. “A very useful spell,” he said with a smile. “My cousin Kagami can convince an air kami to take on a bird’s form and carry a message. She has been sending me one every day.”

“And… and she is going to attack a Kuni?” the boy asked, hesitantly.

Jiromasu pulled out his pipe, huffing out a laugh. “She is going to cast a spell at him, yes,” he said as he packed it. “From what she has explained to me, it might give him a blinding headache and disorient him, but it is no more dangerous than that unless you are seriously weakened.” He paused, a moment to puff on the pipe, then continued. “Extremely helpful in battle nonetheless. An opponent unable to act except to defend themselves is at a considerable disadvantage.”

The boy frowned, nodding slowly as he considered the Kakita’s words. “I see.”

Jiromasu tipped his head in the boy’s direction. “We’ll be leaving in three days' time. Head for bed now and, tomorrow, go ask the proctor for a bag to pack.”

“Yes, Jiromasu-sama,” the boy said, scrambling to his feet and bowing. He hesitated a moment to see if Jiromasu had anything more to say, then turned and headed back in the direction of the dormitory. Jiromasu sat there puffing on his pipe as the boy’s footsteps died away, idly wondering what the events surrounding Akodo Aramoto’s surrender had been.

***

Chomei wearily raised his head from where he had been staring at his feet, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. It had been a very busy week. 

When Jiromasu-sama had informed him that he was being allowed to go home and visit his family, it had set off a storm of emotions in his chest that were difficult to overcome. He had returned to the dormitory that night to find the three who had accosted him considerably subdued. They glanced over at him as he came in and he did not try to hide how turbulent his emotions were, though he was deeply certain that letting them know how many of those emotions were positive would be a poor choice, so he had let his confusion rest at the top. They clearly believed that he had been hauled off for discipline - he certainly thought that was going to be his fate when Jiromasu-sama had ordered him to come with him, his gut tightening as he followed the Kakita down the darkened pathways through the school - and they probably believed that they had gotten off lightly. He had avoided their gazes and quickly gotten ready for bed, slipping under his blankets, closing his eyes, and revelling in the buzzing emotions.

The following morning, he was a little steadier and managed to follow the day’s routines with only the odd moment of distraction. He had been fortunate enough, after the last class had been dismissed for the day, to have been in the yard when the dojo’s master swordsman, Kakita Yarato-sama, had entered the training yard with Kakita Jiromasu-sama. The older unknown Kakita had been there as well, leaning against the wall to watch with a look of mild interest on his face.

Sensei Yarato-sama had run Jiromasu-sama through the graduate forms and then he had stepped forward to spar with him. Chomei, along with several other students, watched wide-eyed as the two men crossed blades with a speed and ferocity that staggered him. Gone was the smile on Jiromasu’s face. He was fighting with a focused intensity that furrowed his brow as his sword blurred through the air. Strike and counter-strike, parry and dodge, the two men were a whirlwind of blades and twisting bodies.

When they finally came to a stop,  Sensei Yarato-sama had looked at Jiromasu-sama for a long, long moment, his lips pursed. Then, his chin dipped in the little nod of acknowledgement that he did, followed by a shallow bow. Chomei’s eyes widened. He had never seen the older man acknowledge any opponent with more than a nod. From Jiromasu-sama’s heightened flush and the startled widening of his eyes that he quickly brought back under control, Chomei was fairly certain that the young man was as surprised as Chomei was. He had bowed deeply to the sword-master before the three men had turned and left the yard.

The other boys in the yard burst into excited conversation as the door closed behind them, the younger ones even turning to ask Chomei’s opinion. He had said something in reply, what he didn’t even know, too aware that this man, this prodigy with a blade, had offered to travel with him to his home and to train him along the way.

And here he was. The journey to Chisana Basho had been made not only in Jiromasu-sama’s company, but that of Kakita Saito-sama as well, and it was a full day before Chomei had been able to muster the nerve to speak other than to answer direct questions or make polite acknowledgements. But Jiromasu-sama - while demanding as an instructor - had been unfailingly kind and patient, and eventually he had ventured to ask a question regarding a topic Jiromasu-sama and Saito-sama had been discussing as they rode along. Then he had dared to offer an opinion when it hadn’t been directly asked for. When both of these had been greeted with thoughtful consideration, he began to relax a little. The two Crane were quite interesting to observe. Saito-sama, despite the fame he held as a duellist, moved with a loose-jointed gait that belied his control. He had spent more than one evening in the inns along the way frowning thoughtfully over a small notebook, an unsullied brush in one hand and an unstoppered ink-pot sitting on the desk before him. He had also sparred with Jiromasu-sama each day and where Jiromasu-sama’s session with Sensei Yamato-sama had been one of fierce concentration, the sparring between Jiromasu-sama and Saito-sama had been almost… playful. Certainly comfortable. No less mesmerizing, the two of them moving with a speed and fluidity that was awe-inspiring, but Jiromasu-sama participated with a smile tugging at his lips, his expression matched by Saito-sama’s lifted eyebrow or the older Kakita’s own smile.

The other man had not commented on Chomei’s training. He had watched, his eyes as often on Jiromasu-sama as on Chomei, but Chomei was uncertain of the man’s opinion. Stretching out his sore muscles as he lay on his bed at night, he had been glumly certain that the older Kakita was contemptuous of his abilities.

Had been. Up until the day they had reached Kiri no Machi and Chomei had looked up at the rising terraces and their many tiny water-falls, and the senior Kakita had invited them to dine with him at his home that evening. They had trained and bathed and walked to the renown duellist’s modest home, and then been shown into a sparsely but elegantly furnished room where Kakita Saito-sama had been sitting close beside the province’s daimyo and Chomei, who had not been prepared for this at all, had nearly turned and fled from the room. 

Thankfully, it had taken him a few moments to identify the woman - Jiromasu-sama’s cheerful “Doji Uki-sama, I had not expected to see you on this visit to Kiri no Machi. We are deeply honoured,” had come after they had taken several steps into the room - and he managed to subsume the surge of jittery nerves into a deep bow.

“After your letter and Saito-san’s entertaining report of your journey to the Kakita school, I thought it worthwhile to meet this young Akodo. Saito-sama says he holds some promise.”

“I believe so,” Jiromasu-sama said, standing to one side a little to allow Chomei to formally present himself. Chomei stepped forward, desperately trying to remember all the things that Asahina Motohiro-sama and Doji Masiko-sama had been trying to teach him regarding Crane etiquette. For one horrible moment, he felt like his memory had failed him, but an Akodo was expected to have an excellent memory and to be able to access it even under stress, and enough of what he learned resurfaced that, mixed with Lion politeness, he felt that he did not completely humiliate himself. 

Doji Uki-sama, at least, seemed content with him, nodding graciously to him. She was not a large woman, slender and graceful and exquisitely dressed. And she regarded him with a shrewd eye that he was sure saw through all his attempts to hide his nervousness. Still, she did nothing to deliberately unnerve him, in fact, she seemed far less intimidating than he would have expected a province’s daimyo to be.

As they ate dinner, the conversation had moved back and forth between many topics that Chomei had only a little knowledge of, but the Doji had brought the conversation around to his family and his sister’s marriage. She quizzed him for the details and, to his stunned astonishment, had said a few complimentary things about his sister’s prospective husband and also about his mother.

“I have never had cause to know much of your father,” she said. “He was deployed in a different area of Rokugan during the One-Day War. He has kept to himself since returning home and has not been much engaged in the discussions within the Lion province, at least, not the ones that I keep abreast of. Yet his name is not unknown to me, either. What would you say your father’s greatest strength is?”

Chomei had floundered at first, before naming his father’s ability to perceive the larger picture of a conflict, his ability to look towards what was needed for lasting victory, rather than a temporary advantage, and his adherence to honour as the traits that he most hoped to emulate.

The Doji had raised one perfect eyebrow at his response, then smiled at him and turned to Jiromasu-sam. “And his martial abilities are proving satisfactory as well?” she asked him.

“I first tried his blade in the Akodo forms,” Jiromasu said. “He is still learning the basics of the Kakita forms, but I believe that, if he continues to approach his training with the determination I have seen so far, by the time he would be considering his gempukku, he will be doing honour to the Kakita school.”

“Well,” the Doji said, gesturing to a servant, who came over carrying a small, exquisitely carved ebony box. “Akodo Chomei-kun, I would ask you to do me the honour of bearing this gift to your father’s home, that it might be given to your sister as a wedding gift from your foster-clan.” Chomei glanced down at the open-topped box. Inside it, carefully mounted and preserved, was a beautiful yellow butterfly, its wings outlined in a dark brown, lighter brown spots speckling the shimmering gold of the wings. 

Chomei was briefly at a loss. Wedding gifts were not required to have the ritual rejections to be politely accepted, but this gift was being handed to him and not to his sister. Yet he was theoretically just a courier. He glanced over at Jiromasu-sama who seemed to read his conundrum and who gave the boy a brief smile, turning to the Doji.

“You are, as ever, most wise, Doji Uki-sama, and have ensured that I will not commit the grievous error of arriving at such a festive gathering without a suitable gift to hand. I am grateful for your forethought.” He turned to look at Chomei. “Doji Uki-sama has a special passion for butterflies and raises them. She is very knowledgeable and very skilled with a butterfly net.”

Chomei managed to thank the Doji without stammering.

The butterfly and its ornate box were carefully packaged up and stored in Chomei’s saddle bag, which had been unloaded from the horses at the town of Hashi no Mura and taken up by heimin porters. Those porters were now following Chomei and Jiromasu-sama along the well-maintained path that ran north of the town in the growing dusk. Jiromasu-sama had cheerfully informed him that there were no stables attached to Yoriki House, so it was best to leave the tired animals there and make the rest of the way on foot. It was not far, he assured Chomei.

Chomei, as tired as the horses, he was sure, and feeling rather disgruntled, was not convinced they couldn’t have ridden the whole way and then sent the horses back to town, but he was not about to question the decisions of his teacher, nor was he willing to lower the man’s opinion of him by complaining, and so he had been following along in the Kakita’s footsteps, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and knowing that soon there would be food and warmth and likely a bath.

“Yoriki House,” Jiromasu-sama said with satisfaction as they rounded a bend in the trail.

Yoriki House was a sizable compound, white-washed walls capped with red clay tiles and with a broad wooden gate painted a brilliant red. It was quickly pulled open upon Jiromasu-sama ringing the bell, and the heimin servant greeted him with both surprise and pleasure.

“Jiromasu-sama,” he said, bowing. “We did not know to expect you!”

“I thought to surprise my cousin,” Jiromasu admitted. “How does everyone fare, Abun-san?”

“Well enough, Jiromasu-sama,” the man said cheerfully. “I believe that you will find them all in the east common room.”

Chomei followed Jiromasu-sama into the house, where they were greeted by a motherly heimin woman named Yuki who fussed over their travel-stained clothes and was pleased to learn that they were to stay two days, long enough for her to deal properly with their laundry. Several of her underlings absconded with their bags and Jiromasu’s armour, and then she shooed them down the hall with a promise of tea and cakes.

Chomei followed Jiromasu-sama along the hallway a little nervously. The Kakita had told him several stories of the Yoriki Five as they had travelled and he would have thought them to have been boasting and exaggeration if he had not seen Jiromasu’s unquestionable mastery of the blade and seen him so warmly and casually greeted by the province’s governor. With that evidence of those stories being at least mostly true, it was somewhat intimidating to be walking into a room that held Chisana Basho’s newest heroes.

When Jiromasu strode into the room, Chomei had only a brief moment to observe the inhabitants of the room before their presence was noticed. A Crane woman sat near the window, bent over a Go board, and a Kuni sat facing her. An enormous man with a Daidoji mon sat off to one side, an open book in his hand but his eyes on a young girl with the white hair of a Crane and a shugenja’s scroll satchel who sat with her back to the doorway, her head bent over whatever she was writing, glancing back and forth between her page and the two scrolls held flat by scroll-weights to either side of her paper. Chomei was surprised by her presence - Jiromasu-sama hadn’t mentioned any children at Yoriki house - but then the Daidoji gave a grunt of surprise and a smile. “Jiromasu-san!”

The girl’s head shot upward and her brush was hastily discarded as she spun around, scrambling to her feet. “Jiromasu? Jiromasu!” She took several quick steps towards the Kakita before seeing that he was not alone. Her forward momentum abruptly slowed and Chomei realized that, though shorter than he was, she was not a child but a woman grown. A very short woman. He tried not to stare, hastily bowing to all the samurai gathered in the room. “Jiromasu. You have brought a… guest?” It wasn’t only her hair that was white. Her eyebrows were as well and her eyes were not the usual brown but a slightly unsettling blue-green, startlingly bright with how pale she was. She looked him over carefully. “Welcome to Yoriki House, Akodo-kun.”

“Thank you, Asahina Kamagi-sama,” Chomei said, having seen the Asahina and the Isawa mon and drawn the inevitable conclusion that this woman was the cousin Jiromasu had spoken of, the Ishiken member of the Yoriki Five. The large man was clearly Daidoji Tetsunotaka-sama and the Kuni could not be anyone but Kuni Goro-sama. The other Crane would be the other Kakita who was yojimbo to Asahina Kagami-sama when Jiromasu-sama was not available, whose name Chomei could not recall. His eyes flicked between Kagami-sama, who had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at her cousin with mock-irritation as she scolded him for not sending word of his coming, and the Kuni, who had paused the game of Go to observe the interaction with furrowed brow. This was the man who had requested that Asahina Kagami-sama cast a painful spell upon him. Chomei shivered a little as the man’s eyes shifted over to look at him. One of them was a deep blood red, the pupil slitted and inhuman, and the skin around it reddened as if it had been burned. It took an effort of utmost will not to step backwards, to retreat from such a twisted appearance, and he wondered what had happened to have left the Kuni so marred. Surely he wasn’t tainted?

“Would you prefer to have him leave again, to send word of his coming so you can be aware of his arrival, Kagami-san?” the Kuni asked. His voice was deep and rough and Kagami-sama stiffened a little at it, then her shoulders relaxed, even as she shot an exasperated glance at the Kuni that made Chomei’s stomach jump. Surely it wasn’t safe to challenge the Kuni that way. The man merely lifted the eyebrow over his cursed eye, however, his expression bland, and Kagami glanced back over at Jiromasu-sama with a wry smile. “Welcome home, Jiromasu. Will you be staying long?”

Yuki-san arrived then, with tea and mochi, and the Kuni and the Kakita woman paused their game to join the others around the table. All of them were very comfortable in each others’ presence and they seemed to handle his presence with minimal fuss. It was Kagami who seemed the most disconcerted by him, her eyes flicking over to him on a regular basis. By the time Jiromasu had finished his explanation of the events that had led to their journey north, she seemed to have accepted his presence, however, and he hoped that this meant that he could manage to complete the two days he was to spend here without accidentally offending anyone.

Chapter Text

Jiromasu noted the samurai who had just walked into the inn’s common room and took a sip of his tea. He and Chomei had stopped here for lunch, taking advantage of the conveniently placed village. He had done some training with the boy, working on the next sequence of kata to follow up Plum-blossom’s Fall and they were now taking a well-earned rest before continuing their journey onwards.

The Matsu who had just walked in might well confound that. She glanced around the room, her eyes widening as she saw Jiromasu.

“You,” she said, spitting the word with a rudeness that had Jiromasu’s eyebrows rising. 

“Matsu Suni-san,” Jiromasu said pleasantly. “It has been a while since I have had the honour of greeting you.”

“We should have met again on the battlefield,” Suni said, hand flexing. “What are you doing in Lion lands?”

“I would have been pleased to fight along-side you against the forces of Fu Leng,” Jiromasu said, as if he did not recognize that she meant as opponents. “However, I was required to play a different role in saving Chisana Basho.” He watched as the venom in the woman’s glare intensified. He felt a flutter of excitement in his chest. The probability that this encounter would end in drawn swords was high. Hopefully, they could resolve this in a way that led to minimal political consequences. At least, minimal consequences for him. He glanced at where Akodo Chomei was examining the Matsu warily. Minimal consequences for him and the boy, he mentally amended. “I am traveling these lands in order to escort a Crane foster-child to visit his birth family. His sister is getting married. An event to be celebrated with great good will, no?”

“You? Are guardian to a Lion child?” Suni shifted her weight and glanced over at Chomei. 

“My school has done me the honour of considering me an appropriate proxy for their care of him.” Jiromasu smiled and he could tell that it was a little sharp-edged, but the woman was spoiling for a fight. That he had been entrusted the task of escorting Chomei was a fact that he was very proud of, and it was also bait. If she took it, Jiromasu would have no concerns about making his displeasure known.

“Wisdom has never been one of the Crane crowning virtues,” Suni sneered.

Jiromasu gave a sharp exhale through his nose and a crisp nod. “I wonder how the Lion manage to keep their reputation for honour when there are those like yourself who so flagrantly ignore it. You have insulted myself, my school, and my charge, for the Crane would never undervalue the life of a child of another clan left in our care. You have been pushing to test my blade. Very well, you have it. To first blood?”

There was another momentary widening of the Matsu’s eyes as his words took her by surprise. What, had she thought he would shy from this? He glanced over at Chomei, who was sitting still and quiet. He gave the boy a reassuring smile as Suni accepted his terms. 

“Very well,” he said, getting to his feet. “Chomei-kun and I have a ways to go before we sleep. Let us take this outside. No need to make the innkeeper clean blood from their floor.”

“I am looking forward to putting you in your place, Kakita,” the Lion said, turning on her heel to stalk out of the room. 

Jiromasu watched her walking out, frowning thoughtfully. He did not think that likely. He had heard very little regarding the Matsu, other than her having been out to prove herself. And, obviously, she had bought into the Lion stereotype of martial skill and an aggressive mien being the appropriate method of doing so. But there had been no mentions of duels she had fought, so while she was an unknown entity as a duellist, that was perhaps just as telling. She moved with a grace that spoke of her as a competent warrior, but Doji Uki had believed that her inclusion as Matsu Tsugai’s second had been for her aggressive temperament, not any other talents. Jiromasu was confident that he had the skills to best her in this contest.

“This will be the first true Kakita duel you have seen, won’t it?” Jiromasu asked Chomei, who had risen silently when he had and was following at his heels. 

“Yes, Jiromasu-sama,” the boy said. 

“Well, I shall endeavour to make it memorable,” Jiromasu said. “Watch in silence. I will answer any questions you have as we travel onward this afternoon.”

The boy nodded and, once they were outside, scurried off to one side to stay out of the way. 

Matsu Suni spun around once she had reached the cleared area before the inn, her hand already by the handle of her katana. Jiromasu sighed. “Matsu Suni-san,” he said, “I understand your passionate desire to speed this along, but this is the first duel involving a Kakita my young charge will have observed. Given that his future involves an intimate knowledge of Kakita fighting styles, might I impose upon you to follow the expected protocols of a duel, even one as hurried and quickly executed as this one, that he might have the ability to improve his skills through careful observation?”

He watched as her cheeks flushed red and she glanced over at where Chomei had perched himself on a rough wooden fence that ran alongside the road. She took a step backwards and took her hand from her sword. With punctilious correctness, even if it was through gritted teeth, she ran through the formalities that should be adhered to for any duel. Jiromasu, his point made, found himself part warmed by her irritation and part annoyed at how her grudging adherence to the sacred ceremony that a duel was supposed to be showed that she had not truely acknowledged her error. He carefully put both feelings aside as he readied himself, dropping into stillness. Into the state that he was fairly sure was the closest he would ever come to experiencing the world as his cousin did, though he came at it from the other side, his still emptiness as he sought the single, perfect, intertwined thread of thought and soul   and action to her swirl of myriad connections. 

Time slowed as he watched the face of his opponent. Saw the twitch of her lip as her breathing became faster. Watched that quick breathing deepen as the Matsu moved towards action.

Jiromasu twisted, his blade striking out. With a yell, Suni flung herself backwards, her reactions just fast enough that his katana blade ripped fabric but missed flesh. With a curse, she yanked her blade from its sheath and then they were locked in combat, circling each other on the packed dirt of the village’s main street. 

The first few blows they exchanged confirmed for Jiromasu that she was, indeed, a competent warrior. And so he let himself settle into a solid defense while he sought an opening where he could successfully blood her, for that had become the challenge of this fight; how to gain first blood, thereby ending the duel. Oh, it would not be too hard to do, if he wasn’t worrying about actually injuring her, but he did not want to do her any serious damage. As dismissive and rude as she had been, as irritating as he found her, causing her serious damage had the potential to create political problems that were greater than the satisfaction of putting her to the ground would have been.

And, he acknowledged to himself ruefully as he parried a blow and retaliated with one that once again caused the Lion to leap backwards like a scalded cat, he had become used to having a shugenja on hand who would be able to immediately heal any damage caused by a duel. He needed to end this contest with the minimum amount of shed blood, as a larger wound was a threat to life through infection, even if the immediate injury was not. His eyes swept the area, then he redoubled his attack. Suni gave way before him, backing up along the road as Jiromasu pressed his advantage.

A little more… a little more… there!

Suni’s foot dropped into the rut in the road and her balance momentarily faltered. Jiromasu lunged forward, his sword cutting through the fabric of her kimono at the shoulder, a thin line of red blood decorating the edge of his blade as he stepped backwards and put up his sword.

The Lion’s face twisted momentarily with rage before her shoulders dropped and she sheathed her sword. She reached up to touch her shoulder and then looked down at her fingers, grimacing at the blood staining their tips. “I yield,” she said.

Jiromasu bowed to her. “A well fought duel,” he said.

Suni nodded at him, the movement brusk. “You are very fast,” she acknowledged grudgingly.

“I have worked hard to become so,” Jiromasu replied. “You are skilled with your blade. I am sure that those that face you on the battlefield will learn to fear you. I have no doubt you acquitted yourself well in the One-Day War.”

“I killed my share of horrors,” the woman said. She fished a small square of cloth from her belt pouch and folded it into a pad, pressing it against the sluggishly bleeding gash on her shoulder. 

“We will leave you to your meal,” Jiromasu said as they all walked back into the inn. He nodded to the innkeeper and gestured at Chomei to gather his things. They left the inn again to the sound of the Matsu complaining to the innkeeper about the state of the road through the village. Her voice was a subdued grumble, so Jiromasu did not find himself worrying that her irritation would get the best of her to the detriment of the village heimin. 

Chomei was silent for a long time as they mounted their horses and rode out of the village. Jiromasu studied him covertly, wondering what the boy was thinking. He himself was well pleased with the outcome of the duel. It would have been satisfying to have ended it with the first strike, but he thought that Matsu Suni was more likely to review her current dislike of all Crane having now had the chance to properly fight one. She hadn’t gotten that chance while in Chisana Basho and was not likely to now, unless she was sent elsewhere in the empire to fight for the Lion.

“Matsu Suni-sama seemed most eager to fight you,” Chomei finally said.

“You are probably too young to have understood much of what happened around the One-Day War,” Jiromasu said. “Control of Chisana Basho was uncertain and many families were competing for it. The Emperor had decreed that the competition was not to be martial, and so it was a battle of diplomacy and influence to convince the Emperor’s agent who had the best claim to rule in the province. The Lion are well known as master tacticians and battle strategists. They are less adept at the courtier’s battlefield. Indeed, they are often contemptuous of it. But battles are fought with more than just blades.”

He examined the road between his horse’s ears. It stretched before him, a long, straight path with no copses of trees or thickets of bushes to hide any threats. He settled more deeply in his saddle and glanced over at the boy. “Chisana Basho was a buffer between the Crane province to the south and the Lion province to the north. It is usually most peaceful when the Crane and the Lion do not share a border. However, with control of a province as a prize, neither Clan was willing to let it simply fall to others. The Lion were fairly certain that they would not be successful at securing it through diplomacy. However, the Imperial edict against armed conflict would likely cease once control was ceded to its new steward, and they flooded the province with their agents. Matsu Tsugai-sama was sent down as their official envoy to Kiri no Machi and Matsu Suni-san came with him as his second. Matsu Tsugai-sama, though not a diplomat, worked hard to fulfil that role. Matsu Suni-san fulfilled the role she had been sent for… that of reminding everyone that the Lion had every intention of taking the province and the dangers inherent in the Lion army massing to the north.”

“But if the Emperor had given control of the province to another Clan, how could the Lion immediately seek to overturn that?” Chomei asked.

Jiromasu paused, trying to decide how to answer the question. The Lion’s clear determination to subvert the will of the Emperor if it did not conform to their desires had been something that had always felt uncomfortably close to dishonourable from his Crane perspective. But Chomei, for all that he was being trained in the Kakita ways, was not a Crane but a Lion. “That is a good question,” he said. “There are several ways to see the situation. One is, indeed, that it is acting counter to the Emperor’s will. But another is to remember that we are a warrior people. It is one thing to grant control to a clan. It is then up to that clan to hold what they were given. In the end, though, it became a non-issue. A greater threat reared its head and General Akodo Hashiga-sama, leader of the Lion army in the north, acted with great wisdom in recognizing that the true enemy was the Great Deceiver and his forces. However, Matsu Suni-san never got the chance for the battles against the Crane that she was craving. Perhaps now that she has fought a Kakita, that desire will abate.”

***

Chomei looked out over the sprawling expanse of the Lion training grounds and wondered how the next few hours would go. The animosity between the Crane and the Lion had not been something he had been thinking about when he had first found out that Jiromasu-sama would be taking him home, beyond the fact that he would be escaping from his peers’ disdain. However, since they had first entered Lion lands, he had seen it turned in their direction in every interaction they had had. The heimin, always careful around samurai to begin with, had been wide-eyed and twitchy when the Kakita had addressed them, though he had never been anything but polite. Those samurai whom they had encountered had looked askance at the Kakita blue of his armour and passed him with narrowed eyes. Jiromasu-sama’s casual greetings were responded to with either curt responses or cautious acknowledgement. And then there had been Matsu Suni-sama’s response.

He was still processing what had happened in the duel between Matsu Suni-sama and Jiromasu-sama. Both the lead up to the duel and the duel itself. His thoughts around the whole situation were not very comfortable, because he was having trouble seeing the Matsu’s actions as anything but inappropriate. He had heard much of Crane arrogance. But what he had seen from Matsu Suni-sama did not provide a picture of the Lion he could take pride in.

And now they were about to descend into a Lion army training encampment. One lone Kakita, escorting an Akodo child. 

Jiromasu-sama seemed utterly unconcerned about the situation, sitting his horse with the reins looped loosely around his hands and with the now-familiar upwards tilt of his lips giving the impression that he was perpetually mildly amused by the world around him. Chomei took comfort from that, but at the same time, they had only dealt with Lion samurai as individuals until now, and only in passing. 

They rode up to the sentries on the road into the camp and Jiromasu-sama pulled his horse to a stop, giving the two suspicious gi-samurai a friendly nod. “I would present my greetings and my daimyo’s compliments to General Hashiga-sama,” he said. “Could you please inform him of Kakita Jiromasu’s arrival.”

The two gi-samurai glanced at each other and then one of them beckoned a young ashigaru, who had been standing to one side looking bored before the two riders had approached. The young man bowed.

“If you will follow me, Kakita-sama,” he said, taking them deeper into the camp. People stopped walking to watch them pass and Chomei kept close to Jiromasu-sama’s heels. Those faces that were not closed off and unreadable showed surprise, disdain, and even anger. The young man took them to a small tent set off to one side and pulled the flap aside. “If you would wait here, Kakita-sama, I will deliver your message.”

The tent contained a low table, a few tatami mats, and a small brasier, which the young man quickly lit before eagerly trotting off further into the camp. Chomei guessed that it was the most interesting thing to have happened to him in days.

Jiromasu-sama settled himself as comfortably as he could while still wearing his armour and gestured for Chomei to seat himself. Chomei did so, though his nerves were demanding movement. He breathed deeply in and out as he had been taught, trying to settle himself. Jiromasu-sama watched him and Chomei knew, he just knew, that the man was seeing every thought and worry that were currently jostling around inside his mind. 

“General Hashiga-sama is an ally,” he said. “I might almost venture to name him a friend of my mentor Kakita Saito-sama. There is no cause for concern.”

“As you say, Jiromasu-sama,” Chomei agreed immediately. And he tried to believe it. But Akodo Hashiga-sama, while the commander of this portion of the Lion army, was one man. There had been many who had looked at Jiromasu-sama with animosity on the brief walk through the camp. And Chomei was not sure how long they intended to stop here. It was only midday. Perhaps they would simply greet the general and move on. Perhaps it was only a short courtesy call.

They were not left waiting long. The tent flap was pulled open and the ashigaru was back, bowing and announcing Adoko Jotaro-sama. A man in Lion colours stepped through and bowed to Jiromasu-sama, who had risen to his feet and bowed back. The Akodo was a tall man, a little older than the Kakita as best Chomei could tell. His dark hair was shorter in the front and longer in the back and was styled in such a way as to fall in tousled curls around his head like a lion’s mane. The effect was striking and Chomei’s hand went to his head, wondering if he would be able to do the same with his hair. The Akodo’s words were courteous and welcoming and his attitude and expression were a bland neutral. 

Jotaro-sama was one of General Hashiga-sama’s adjuncts and he led them through the camp towards where the general was currently seated under a canopy, conferring with a stout heimin dressed in Lion colours. As he saw them approaching, the General nodded to the man, who rolled up a scroll, bowed respectfully to his superior, and hurried off.

“Kakita Jiromasu-san,” Hashiga-sama said in greeting. Jotaro-sama stepped forward to put out sake cups, filling them from a bottle sitting near a small braiser off to one side. He placed one in front of Chomei as well, flashing a small smile at the boy. Chomei smiled back as the man poured a measure of sake into the ceramic vessel. He watched the other two men carefully, mirroring Jiromasu-sama as the man lifted the cup and raised it with a bow of his head. He took a sip and Chomei did as well, stifling a cough at the burn of the alcohol as he swallowed. General Hashiga-sama drank shortly after Jiromasu-sama did, and Chomei remembered that from his time at home, his mother drinking after their guests had all drunk first.

“You made good time, Jiromasu-san ,” General Hashiga-sama said. “I received word you were coming, but had not thought to look for you for another few days.”

“It occurred to me once I reached Yoriki House that it would be kindest to my young charge that he have as much time with his family as possible before returning to the Kakita school,” Jiromasu said. “I decided that we would continue to travel on horseback, rather than leaving our mounts at Hashi no Mura and continuing on foot.”

“Indeed. And you are escorting Akodo Aromoro-san’s son to his daughter Nikako-san wedding.” The general looked over at Chomei, who tried to look as grown up as possible, holding the half-full sake cup in his hand while dipping his head in a respectful bow towards the older Akodo. “It is good to meet the son of such an honourable man. We were glad to have him ransomed back to us after his capture in Haishu province.”

“I am honoured to have been able to be part of that exchange,” Chomei said. And he was. He really was. It was something he clung to when the longing for home rose up. When the sneers became too much and throbbing bruises made sleep difficult. It was something he knew was a sign of his own value to both his father and his clan. He had not been abandoned or forgotten. The letters from his mother and sisters showed that. It was an honour to serve his family and clan this way, they always reminded him. An honour. Even if sometimes it was very difficult. No one said that an honourable life was an easy one. His father’s freedom for his. He swallowed hard.

General Hashiga-sama nodded. “I am pleased to see you back in Lion lands for a visit,” he said. “I am sure that your family will be glad to be able to spend some time with you.” He finished his sake and put down his cup. Chomei did so as well, trying not to make a face at the odd taste and the burn of the liquid in his mouth. He wondered why older samurai were all so inclined to drink the stuff. Maybe there was something wrong with him that he didn’t really seem to like it. Maybe it was the same reason he sometimes forgot to appreciate that he was able to serve his clan by living with the Crane and found himself wishing there had been some other way.

The others were still talking and Chomei realized that Jiromasu-sama intended for them to stay the night in the Lion encampment. A thrill of anxiety pulled his attention away from where his thoughts had been moving towards that darkness that he fought so hard against. He wasn’t worried for himself - he was an Akodo - but a lone Kakita in a camp full of Lion bushi seemed like it was asking for trouble. Were there any here who had not, at one time or another, found themselves at the other end of a Crane’s blade?

But General Hashiga-sama had made them welcome, invited them to eat with the ranking officers that evening, and had assigned Jotaro-sama as their guide and companion for the afternoon. That last did a great deal to settle Chomei’s nerves. With General Hashiga-sama’s adjunct escorting them, surely there would be none who would be so openly rude and antagonistic as Matsu Suni-sama had been.

Jotaro-sama took them on a tour of the encampment. He was not a talkative man, but he pointed out elements of their organization and their provisioning that had Jiromasu-sama nodding. Jiromasu-sama was quick to compliment the Lion efficiency and asked several questions that showed that his martial knowledge was not restricted to the art of the duel. Chomei listened to the conversation with interest. Some of what they were saying was confusing, clearly beyond his current understanding, but the shape of it was thrilling. He carefully made note of a few things that he would ask Jiromasu-sama about later, when they were alone.

They finished their tour at the mass training grounds and Chomei watched with wide eyes as the ashigaru were drilled in their forms. Off to one side, there were several practice rings set up and Akodo and Matsu officers were sparring with both wooden training swords and live steel and the clack of wood on wood and the ring of metal on metal floated over to them. Jiromasu watched them, his lips pursed, then glanced at their companion.

“Jotaro-san, one of the tasks laid upon me by my school, when I was granted the honour of representing them in taking Chomei-kun to visit his family, was to continue his training in the Kakita style. We have not yet practiced today. And I will admit to having a great desire to test myself against those who are our traditional adversaries. Would it be a great imposition to take a little time now to work with my charge and then see if there are those who might be interested in crossing blades with a Crane?”

The Lion considered the Kakita and nodded. “I am pleased to know that you take the responsibility of training young Chomei-kun so seriously. And I would ask that I be granted the opportunity to try your blade.”

Jiromasu’s smile broadened. “I welcome the opportunity,” he said. “Though I would also ask a favour of you. Chomei-kun has been continuing to drill the Lion forms he had been taught before his time with the Crane began. He has been diligent in his determination to maintain his skills as a Lion swordsman. However, he has been without a mentor and I am not a sufficient replacement for such, having never learned them myself. Skills practiced in isolation may drift from the ideal. At the end of my lesson with him, would you do us the honour of observing the skills of his heritage and addressing any flaws in his performance?”

Chomei glanced over at Jiromasu-sama, briefly startled. He had been practicing his Lion forms after finishing with Jiromasu-sama’s instructions, but the Kakita had never said anything about it, either positive or negative. Had simply observed him in silence. He felt a warmth inside him, a sense of being seen that was as welcome as it was embarrassing. 

Jotaro-sama’s eyebrows rose and he nodded. “Of course,” he said. He glanced over at Chomei. “I am pleased to hear that you are working to maintain your skills as a Lion bushi.”

“Thank you, Akodo Jotaro-sama,” Chomei said. He glanced at the training grounds and tried to tamp down his anxiety at having to work on his basic Kakita forms in front of so many. “I am working hard to try and be a credit to the Lion. To be a proud and honourable member of our clan.”

A smile ghosted across the man’s face. “Good.”

Jotaro-sama retrieved a pair of bokkan for them and they set up to one side. After the appropriate stretches and warm ups, Jiromasu-sama moved Chomei into the practice of the Kakita forms. He was a demanding instructor, but a patient one, and while he insisted on perfection of form, he also offered praise when Chomei mastered a new skill or managed a clean run through a tricky movement set. Jotaro-sama was standing nearby, watching as they worked, and Chomei did his best to ignore the awareness of his audience, especially when others would drift up to the Akodo, engaging him in quiet conversation for a few moments before walking away again, their eyes always fixed on him and Jiromasu-sama.

Finally, Jiromasu-sama stepped back. “Well done, Chomei-kun,” he said. “You managed to maintain your focus in the moment, despite the many distractions.

Chomei smiled at him, a little weary but pleased. He had been worried he might embarrass Jiromasu-sama in front of an audience that would have been highly critical, even hostile, but the Kakita’s expression was open, with a gleam in his eye that showed he was well satisfied with his student’s display. “Thank you, Jiromasu-sama,” he said.

Jiromasu-sama glanced over at the watching Akodo. “Thank you for your patience, Jotaro-sama,” he said, gesturing for the man to take his place. Chomei swallowed hard and reminded himself that he had been the best among the children at home before he had been sent to live with the Crane. It had been more than a year, so he hadn’t learned anything new, but - he hoped - he hadn’t lost anything either.

“Very well, Chomei-kun, show me what you can do,” Jotaro-sama said.

Chomei closed his eyes for a moment. He was not home with his family yet, but he was in his home province. Back on Lion lands. The land of his ancestors. He could almost feel them watching. Could feel them supporting him. Unlike the Kakita forms, these ones were well worn, comfortable. He could do them in his sleep.

He opened his eyes and began to move through the kata. He almost stumbled on the first leap, focused too much on the precision of the movement. The jolt of half-panicked adrenaline as he caught his balance momentarily tightened all his muscles and made him realize how much tension he was holding in his body. Tension that was getting in his way. He consciously relaxed, stopped focusing so much on perfection, and let the movements flow without thought, one to the next to the next. He finished the first forms and moved immediately into the next set, linking them together one after the other, and then finishing with a final repetition of the first form, the one he had come so close to embarrassing himself on. He held the final pose for a long moment.

“At ease,” Jotaro-sama said. He glanced over at Jiromasu-sama. “I regret that a Lion school has lost the opportunity to train a samurai who demonstrates both talent and dedication.” He looked back at Chomei. “You have maintained your understanding of the Lion forms admirably. Would you like me to show you the next?”

Chomei caught his breath. “Yes, please, Jotaro-sama. I would be honoured to learn from you.”

“You have most of the basics already. It is in how they are strung together,” Jotaro-sama said, then proceeded to teach Chomei Raking Claw . 

Chomei felt like he would burst from all the feelings welling up inside him. To have received such praise from both of the men observing him. To have been thought worthy of being taught the next Lion kata, even if it was to be only this one lesson. To have his life with the Kakita be regretted by more than just his immediate family. To be on his way home. It was so much. Too much. And he was desperately grateful for the lesson he was being taught, as he could focus intently on the order of the moves, using the urgent need to memorize them in this one lesson to quash the roiling emotions that would otherwise have been threatening to overcome him. He repeated the order of the moves in his head, a constant litany as he moved through them. He would remember them. He would perfect this form as well.

“Well done,” Jotaro-sama said upon conclusion of the final run through, reaching out to ruffle Chomei’s hair. “I hope that my nephew and niece will prove to be as avid students when their time comes.”

Chomei ducked his head, his cheeks flushing. “You honour me, Jatoro-sama,” he said.

“We work hard for our honour,” the man said. He turned to look at Jiromasu-sama. “And I believe you offered to meet my blade,” he said, his smile turning somewhat predatory. 

Jiromasu-sama, who had been watching them closely, reached forwards to pluck Chomei’s bokkan from his hand. “I did indeed,” he said easily, stepping towards an empty practice circle.

Chomei was glad to see the wooden training swords. He had seen Jiromasu spar with live steel, but that had been against well known and highly skilled opponents. In a situation like this, steel blades would have been an unacceptable risk. With the wooden swords, even with the weight of inter-clan tension behind the blows, serious injury was unlikely. Not with Jiromasu-sama as skilled as he was.

Being the first to be aware of the contest, Chomei had his pick of observation points and he scrambled up to sit on a crate that happened to be alongside this training ring. They were on the outer edge of the field, a little out of the way, and Chomei was fairly sure Jiromasu-sama and Jotaro-sama had done that purposefully, to keep the gawking at a Kakita training an Akodo to a minimum. Now, however, it was fully trained bushi of the two clans competing and word spread quickly and there was soon a ring of spectators surrounding the battling pair.

Jatoro-sama was not unskilled, but it was soon clear that he was not the Kakita’s equal. The two samurai fought back and forth for perhaps a minute before Jiromasu-sama landed a solid blow, the agreed-upon criteria for ending the spar. His expression rueful, Jotaro-sama bowed. “You have proved the victor,” he said. He glanced around the ring of watching Akodo. “Kakita Jiromasu-sama had voiced interest in testing himself against Lion combatants. Are there any others who are interested in testing their training against his?”

“I will face him.” The young man who stepped forward had a Matsu mon and an air of confidence. 

“I am honoured,” Jiromasu-sama said. “Would you like to face a Kakita duellist or face a Kakita in open combat?”

The Matsu’s eyes widened a moment as he realized his choice and then they narrowed and he grinned. “Let it be the duellist. I have always wanted to try a Kakita’s skill in that area.”

It was with interest that Chomei watched as the two of them fulfilled the courtesies of a duel and set themselves in position, bokkan tucked into belts and ready for the draw. Jiromasu’s face was sheer serenity, eyes fixed on his opponent and yet somehow also abstracted. It was his sword that drew first, his sword that made contact before the Matsu had even begun to move. Chomei gasped at the speed of it. He had no idea you were even able to move a wooden blade that fast. There was a groan of disappointment from the watching Lion. Another bushi stepped forward. “I cannot match the speed of your draw,” she acknowledged, “but I will try you in an open spar.”

Chomei watched as, over the course of the next hour, Jiromasu-sama fought a seemingly unending stream of opponents. Some chose to try themselves against the duellist, some in open spar. All left defeated, though some were skilled enough in a spar to provide the Kakita with a challenge. It was not until half way through the second hour that a blow swung at him finally landed. The blow brought with it a massive cheer from the watching crowd and the victorious Matsu - a short woman at least a decade older than Jiromasu-sama whose agility and speed had proved a match for his after a spar that had lasted longer than any of the previous contests - nodded respect to the Kakita facing her, who was subtly shaking out his left arm where her blow had connected. 

“ Zakennayo… finally!” Chomei heard one of the bushi to his left exclaim. 

“It would be Matsu Satomi-sama,” another said. “No one else can beat her either.”

“Well fought.” There was immediate silence as General Hashiga-sama stepped forward from where he had been observing events. “Jiromasu-san, I thank you for reminding my men of how important it is not to underestimate the sharpness and speed of a Kakita’s blade. Jotaro-san will show you where to find the baths. There is time for you to recover yourself somewhat before you join my officers for the evening meal.”

“Thank you, General Hashiga-sama,” Jiromasu-sama said, bowing to the man. Sweat was streaking his face in long rivulets and his hair, which had been braided back in a tail, had been slowly working itself free of its ties and strands of it were plastered across his damp skin. “It has been an honour to find myself faced with so many eager sparring partners and an interesting challenge to adapt myself to so many adversaries.”

Chomei hopped down from his crate and followed after Jotaro-sama and Jiromasu-sama as they made their way through the slowly dispersing crowd, uncertain how to deal with his reactions to what had just happened. On the one hand, there was pride in Jiromasu-sama’s clear display of skill. This man was travelling with him. Was training him. Was taking him home to see his family. Was the chosen representative of the school that was to be Chomei’s school.

On the other hand, it had taken an hour and a half of constant fights before they had found a Lion who could best the Kakita in one-to-one combat. And that was uncomfortable and embarrassing. Though perhaps it had only been the lower ranking samurai who had tried their blades against Jiromasu’s. Perhaps those with greater skill had decided it was beneath their dignity to participate in such a contest. Perhaps that was why.

It felt oddly disloyal to be pleased by Jiromasu-sama’s success. And yet, would he have found pride if the Lion had put on a better showing and Jiromasu-sama’s successes had been less noteworthy? He was not sure, and that feeling of discomfort trailed behind him like a cloak as he followed them towards the bathing tents down by the river.

Chapter Text

Jiromasu winced a little as he pulled aside his under-kimono and shitagi in order to smear bruise balm over his shoulder. The area Matsu Satomi had hit had bruised deep and black and was only now beginning to fade into greens and purples at the edges some several days afterwards. The petite samurai had packed a great deal of power into her swings, but he was no novice to be surprised by the physical strength that could be wielded by small women. There was a reason he made sure to dodge his cousin’s blows when she kicked at him when he had annoyed her.

He smiled ruefully at the thought of his cousin. It had been she who had insisted he bring the bruise balm along. In fact, he had a fairly comprehensive basic medicine kit tucked into his saddle bags on her insistence. If she wasn’t going to be there in person to tend to any medical needs, she was going to try and make sure he was prepared to care for them himself. Thankfully, this had been the first time he had needed to make use of any of them and he hoped it would be the last. They should be reaching Chomei’s family home soon.

It had been an eventful but enjoyable trip so far. Chomei was showing himself to be every bit as dedicated and talented as Jiromasu had deduced from that one sparring session down by the river and he was a polite and curious child, willing to ask questions now that he knew that Jiromasu would listen carefully and give thoughtful responses. He was making stunningly fast progress at learning the basic Kakita forms now that he was not having to share instruction with a class full of younger students and Jiromasu was looking forward to seeing the surprise on Sensei Yataro’s face when he saw him again. And the story of walking into a Lion army training encampment and facing so many opponents before finally being bested by one of their most accomplished warriors when he was tired and she was fresh made for a story that he was going to enjoy boasting to. It had certainly not done his reputation among the Lion any harm, even if they had been a touch resentful about it.

The boy had been carefully working on the new Lion kata he had been taught as well. He was moving slowly through them right now, careful to keep every movement precise and perfect. Jiromasu had watched closely as Jotaro had taught the steps to the boy, and he watched carefully now as the boy continued to practise them, but he had not found himself needing to step in to correct any part of the form. He had otherwise left the practice of his Akodo forms completely to the boy, and he had been pleased to see that Chomei practiced them with commendable frequency, despite how hard Jiromasu worked him on the Kakita forms each day.

Jiromasu waited for the boy to be done before he began to check the horses in preparation to leave once more. Chomei hurried to help him and Jiromasu could see the child’s urgency to move onwards. They were only a few hours from his home now, and Jiromasu thought that his decision to practice his Lion kata after they had eaten was likely more to do with his need to occupy himself to deal with his heightened emotions while they waited for the horses to be rested than it was the desire to truly improve his abilities. He approved, however. It is not like he had not done the same thing in the past, using precise focus on his training to avoid or channel with the energy that flooded his body when dealing with difficult emotions or anxiety.

The last few hours of their journey was uneventful and they were soon riding up to the large collection of buildings that made up Akodo Aromoro’s home. Jiromasu regarded the layout with interest as they approached, realising that the local heimin village was built as an outlying ring of buildings around where the Akodo’s samurai structures backed onto a knoll that provided protection from a persistent eastern breeze. Nothing more than a paved pathway separated samurai residence from heimin huts and those heimin who were out and about took note of the approaching riders with interest. When they were close enough for their watchers to recognise the blue-lacquered Kakita armour, one of the heimin, bowing low to them, whispered something to the child by his side and the boy raced off down the road towards the largest building.

Their progress through the village was met with deep bows and murmurs of “Crane-sama” to Jiromasu and much more cheerful cries of “Chomei-sama!” to his ward. Jiromasu smiled internally at this. Clearly whatever mischief Chomei had gotten up to as a small child had endeared him to the village, rather than fostering any sense of frustration or irritation with the youngster.  By the time they had reached the Akodo home, three samurai were standing before it to welcome the travellers. One was a tall, lean man, whose clear resemblance to Chomei proclaimed this to be his father, Aromoro. The two women were equally clearly his mother and sister. 

“Kakita Jiromasu-san,” Aromoro said, bowing. “You have our gratitude for bringing our son home to visit. It is good that he is here to honour his sister’s marriage.”

“It was an honour to bring him,” Jiromasu replied, dismounting and bowing. “If there is to be lasting peace and prosperity between our provinces, then it is only right that we should aid each other. And there is little less controversial than honouring the kami and ones ancestors while celebrating a marriage.” Though apparently this was not completely true, his cousin had informed him. The Lion held odd ideas about their ancestors and how those ideas interacted with the kami and the celestial wheel was a matter of some dissent among shugenja. She hadn’t been very clear herself on the exact details of the Lion view of this, something about the Lion calling on their ancestors for aid, not just the kami, and had asked him to observe the wedding ceremony carefully. He fully expected her to require him to recount every detail when he returned.

“Welcome home, Chomei-kun,” the older of the two women said. This would be Akodo Meisuki, Chomei’s mother. Jiromasu noted that the eyes of all three Akodo in front of him kept darting over to the child as he, too, slid down off his mount.

“Thank you, Mother,” he said. He looked around. “It… it hasn’t changed much.”

“There is a new cat,” the younger woman said. Akodo Nikako, his sister, Jiromasu presumed. “And the old plum tree down by the stream put out its final fruit last fall. It has been cut down for firewood.”

“Come inside,” Meisuki said. “The servants will see to your horses and your bags. We will have tea.”

Jiromasu let himself be led inside, removing his armour in the small side-chamber set aside for such activities, doing so slowly and methodically so that Chomei’s family might have a few minutes during which they could greet each other without a stranger standing there observing them. When he stepped back outside, Aromoro’s face was taut, his lips in a thin line that spoke of the great effort being made to keep his expression under control. Meisuki’s face was impassive, but Nikako’s eyes were misty and Chomei, though not crying, was clearly struggling with his emotions. Jiromasu politely turned his face away so as not to embarrass the two young Akodo.

“The beauty of your lands is considerable, Aromoro-sama. And your rice-fields are meticulously maintained. Your yield each year must be considerable. A most valuable resource for your clan.”

“Meisuki-san has been a most able manager of our lands over the past two decades,” Aromoro said as they passed through several passageways and out into a beautifully maintained interior garden where a low table was set for tea under a carved pagoda. “Since my return, I have done my best to support her in her work without upsetting the balance she has maintained so well.”

“Well maintained lands and healthy, happy, productive heimin are worth boasting of,” Jiromasu said, nodding to Meisuki. “The glory of our warriors falters when the supply-lines do.”

The afternoon passed quickly in conversation and in a brief tour of the house, grounds, and village. Towards the end of the afternoon, Jiromasu requested permission to continue his tutelage of Chomei and it was graciously given. Aromoro joined them in the small courtyard that had been set up as a training ground and watched in silence as Jiromasu worked with Chomei on his Kakita forms, then watched with approval as Chomei went through his Akodo forms as well. The young Akodo had been as nervous in this session as he had been performing on the Lion training grounds at the army camp, but that was to be expected. He had still acquitted himself well and, while Aromoro’s expression was appropriately stoic and hard to read, Jiromasu received the impression that he was pleased with his son’s performance.

The evening passed pleasantly enough, though there was, of course, the tension that was bound to be there when Lion and Crane met in a social setting. However, there was no overt hostility. The sense of obligation, of having been granted a boon by an enemy, was, Jiromasu hoped, off-set by his framing it as a gesture of friendship between two provinces currently at peace. Though he certainly did not mind there being a sense of obligation towards both the Crane as a whole and towards himself - it was, in fact, one of the many reasons for making this journey - it was likely to be a stronger tie if it were developed without an underlying resentment towards that obligation. After the family meal had been taken, Chomei was sent off with his younger siblings to reacquaint himself with them and Jiromasu found himself seated with Chomei’s parents, an aunt, and his eldest sister, sake cups before them.

Jiromasu considered the possible topics of conversation open to him and decided to focus on Nikako’s wedding. She was marrying into the Ikoma family and the Lion traditions on how one moved between families made for a complex conversation. From the information Doji Uki had provided him before they left, he knew that Akodo Meisuki had been Matsu before marrying Aromoro, and from the evening’s discussion he learned that in marrying outside the Matsu, you were to leave all of your identity as a Matsu behind. Which was nominally what was true in all samurai inter-family and inter-clan marriages, he supposed, but in practice, it was considered a good way to shore up alliances or to gain influence. The Matsu, from what Jiromasu was told, were somewhat more intense about it, the “death and rebirth” aspect of the marriage holding considerably more weight for them, to the point of cutting out the brand identifying them as Matsu that had been seared into their flesh at their gempuku.

It was, Jiromasu supposed, a very fervent, Matsu way of looking at the world. One of extremes and extreme measures. But he was thankful to know that not all Lion considered it this way and that Nikako becoming Ikoma did not require her to renounce her family quite so forcefully, while still, of course, being expected to change her primary loyalty to the Ikoma. He found himself quite curious as to why Meisuki had been married into the Akodo. What benefit to the Matsu had occurred to do so? Was it something they had gained, some trade rights or treaty? Or was it due to some perceived trait in Meisuki, something that did not fit with Matsu philosophy or customs and that this was deemed a good way to correct a flaw in the family?

Regardless of the reasons, it would seem that the Akodo had profited from the marriage. And Meisuki seemed content, her face stern but serene. Jiromasu had not yet seen the flashes of temper and anger, the impulsiveness that he expected from a Matsu. Perhaps there had been nothing yet to trigger it. Or perhaps she had left that tendency behind when she had left her family.

He found himself recounting the story of the first marriage his cousin had officiated and the way she had blended Crane and Phoenix marriage customs when performing the rituals and proceeded to learn considerably more about the Lion marriage customs than he had expected. The sake had been being poured generously throughout the evening and he found himself hoping rather muzzily that he would be able to remember at least the general outlines of what he was being told. Either that or he would have to avoid mentioning this conversation to Kagami. 

By the time he excused himself for the evening, he was reasonably sure of having made a good impression. He had, at the very least, positioned himself as a diplomatic and accommodating guest, one not inclined to cause waves with an unthinking arrogance. And though his two hosts were reserved, neither were openly hostile and their daughter and the aunt were quite personable. 

He lay down in his bed well satisfied. The wedding was scheduled in a seven-day. Seven days of time in a beautiful location. Seven days of learning more of Lion culture and customs beyond the stereotypes and caricatures to be found in Crane writings. Seven days to continue training Chomei and seeing to his mastery of the basics. Seven days to see how many Lion he could convince to rethink their immediate animosity for a courtly Crane. He grinned into the darkness. He always did like a challenge.

***

Home felt both comfortable and infinitely strange, Chomei thought. It was now the third day since his return and it was slowly starting to feel more familiar. It had been odd to see the little ones grown so much larger. When he had left, the youngest had been taking his first shaky steps. Now, he was running around on sturdy little legs and demanding to be picked up, put down, and given things in short, lisping sentences. Kaoru, only a year younger than Chomei, called him the Little Emperor. Chomei quite agreed with the epithet, given that everyone seemed to accede to the child’s requests.

He had slipped back into his role of leader to the pack of samurai and heimin children in the village without too much fuss, Kaoru ceding her de facto leadership back to him without demur. It was he who was named as father’s heir and so it made sense and a Lion knew how to take on the role for which they were trained. But there was still a distance that had not been there before, things that had happened to him that they were not aware of and things that had happened in the village that he did not know about.

Still, it hadn’t been that long. And Daizu, the son of one of Father’s gi-samurai and a heimin woman from the village, was ecstatic to have his friend returned to visit, even if they both knew that it would not be for long.

His training with Jiromasu-sama was still continuing, of course. They had been training three times a day while they travelled, short sessions designed to help him memorise the kata he was learning. Once before breakfast, once at midday, and once before the evening meal. Now that they had arrived, Jiromasu had altered their schedule to training twice a day, slightly longer sessions in the morning and evening, giving Chomei the rest of the day to visit with his family and his friends. And his father had added to those training sessions as well. On the first morning after they had arrived, he had watched the morning session with Jiromasu-sama with Daizu and his father at his side. Then, when Jiromasu-sama had signalled the end of his instruction, Father had informed Chomei that while he was on Lion lands, his Lion training would be progressed as well. Daizu had grinned at him and stepped up beside Chomei as his gi-samurai father, a familiar instructor, led them through the opening kata.

Jiromasu-sama had watched the Lion training sessions each day, but other than those training sessions, Chomei was left to do as he pleased. The Kakita spent his days wandering around, either in company with one of Chomei’s parents or his aunt, or just alone as he observed the daily village life. He and Father had gone down to fish in the river that provided the irrigation for the rice fields one afternoon. Another day, he had visited the mews with Mother and they had ridden out with falcons on their wrists. He always noticed Chomei - Chomei was pretty sure that there was little the Crane’s sharp eyes missed - but he seemed content to let Chomei bask in the strangeness and the comfort of being home.

Today, he and Daizu had finished their training and Chomei and Kaoru had convinced Mother to let them take all the children down to the river to play. She had agreed, probably grateful to have the little ones out from under her feet while they planned the final details of Nikako’s wedding. It was a reasonable distance to the picnicking spot and she had sent them off with a pony for the littlest ones to ride and two heimin servants, one the nurse who looked after the Little Emperor and one the sturdy young man who helped keep the buildings of the village in good repair.

It was a glorious, sunny day and they had eaten their lunch and then had played an extended game of onigokko, which finally devolved into all the children chasing Chomei and Daizu, as the oldest and most adept at avoiding being tagged, until finally Daizu had been tagged and then had tackled Chomei to the ground, where he found himself squashed under the weight of all the others as they piled on top of him, crowing triumph.

The little ones had been tired out and flopped down on the grass panting. The nurse was playing a clapping game with the two youngest and Kaoru was laughing at the disheveled state of Chomei’s clothing, which he was trying to tug to rights.

“It is a lost cause, Chomei,” she said, grinning. “Why don’t you and Daizu-kun show us what you can do with all that sword training you have been doing.”

“We don’t have our bokken here, Kaoru-chan,” Daizu said. He looked a little disappointed though, and Chomei snorted. The other boy admired his sister far more than Chomei thought was reasonable, and would welcome the chance to show off in front of her.

“Chomei told us that he first fought Kakita Jiromasu-sama with sticks pulled from a thicket. If a famous duelling prodigy is willing to do that, surely a lack of bokken isn’t going to stop you, is it?” Kaoru asked, eyes wide and face full of an innocence that was so counterfeit that Chomei had to restrain himself from throwing a clod of dirt at her.

“We could do that, couldn’t we Chomei?” Daizu asked, turning to his friend, and Chomei felt himself give in to the eagerness in the other boy’s expression. He grinned.

“Alright, Daizu. Let’s go find some decent sticks.” Chomei said. He looked over at Endo, who was watching them all from his seat on the grass beside the nurse, Osaku. “Endo-san, we will need your koshi-nata.”

The young man got to his feet. “As you say, Chomei-sama,” he said, unhooking the tool with its long, heavy, sharp blade from his belt, removing the protective cover and moving with the two of them into the dense copse of trees that bordered the far edge of the meadow. It did not take long for them to find two appropriate branches and Endo lopped them off with two quick slashes of his blade, quickly trimming off the extraneous leaves and twigs and cutting them to length. He handed them over, grinning as Chomei and Daizu dashed back to where Kaoru had gathered the young ones to watch the fight.

As they set up, Chomei debated what he wanted to do. Oh, if he fought to his full potential, he would likely easily overset Daizu. Especially as he now had Kakita training and moves to add to a spar that Daizu would be unfamiliar with. However, if he restricted himself to Lion training, he and Daizu were likely to be more evenly matched. Daizu had more than a year’s extra training to what Chomei had received in the Lion style. It would also up the difficulty level for Chomei, forcing him to both think carefully about what moves he was incorporating and also result in his having a more limited set of moves to pull from than his opponent. He glanced at Daizu, who was looking determined. “We fight as Lion,” he said, and watched Daizu’s smile widen as he nodded, suddenly much more confident of making a reasonable showing before the others.

Endo set himself as referee of the match and they began, to the cheers from the children. It was a good bout and Chomei gloried in it, in the challenge of fighting with a restricted set of movements available to him and the growing awareness that a knowledge of Kakita tactics was going to serve him well in the future when he might be having to fight for real. The two styles were not incompatible and he could see how some of what he was learning would seamlessly blend with what he had been taught by the Lion. And whether fighting another Lion on a matter of honour, or a Crane on a matter of honour or in war, the ability to weave both together against his opponent was likely to be a distinct advantage.

For the first time, he saw his time at the Kakita school as more than just a duty but as a true opportunity, and the surge of emotion that realisation brought with it translated into a rush of energy that ended with his having driven Daizu back and down, the other boy yielding with a laugh.

“You have won that round, Chomei!” he said as Chomei helped him to his feet. “Did you see that last parry, though, Kaoru-chan? Endo-san?”

“I did,” Endo said, smiling widely. “And I can see -” Whatever else the man had been about to say was driven from him in a gasping rush of air as an arrow took him between the shoulder blades. Chomei stared at him in horror as the man’s face twisted with pain and then he collapsed, face down on the grass. There were several high pitched screams from where the children were watching. Chomei looked up at where five men were running towards them from the copse of trees where Chomei and Daizu had found their sticks. They were strangers and dressed in nondescript clothing, knives and chopping swords at their sides but not in their hands.

“Take the children and run!” Osaku said, jumping to her feet and snatching up Endo’s koshi-nata.

Running was not going to work, Chomei realised. Osaku was not going to be able to hold them off long enough and the young ones were not able to outdistance full-grown men.

“Daizu, get the horse,” Chomei snapped, turning to Kaoru as the boy jerked out of his shocked paralysis at the sudden violence and ran for the pony. “Kaoru, help me get them on its back.”

With his sister’s help, as Daizu held the pony still, Chomei got all four of the youngsters up on the horse, then boosted Kaoru up behind the Little Emperor. He pushed the reins into her hands. “Go!”

She gave him a long, grim look, nodded her head, then kicked her heels into the horse’s flanks. They took off along the river-bank, heading for home and help. Chomei glanced around at where Osaku had been borne to the ground. The koshi-nata had been wrenched from her hand, but she was not done fighting and Chomei watched as her hand dipped to her belt and came up with a small, sharp paring knife. She snarled up at the man looming over her as he struggled to pin her down and drove it up under his ribs, giving a sharp twist as she did so. The man gave a punched-out gasp and collapsed on top of her and one of the watching men swore and kicked her hard in the head. Her head snapped sideways from the force of the blow and she went limp.

“Run, Daizu!” Chomei said as the attention of the remaining four men turned to the boys and they began to move in their direction. He stooped to grab hold of the stick he had been sparing with, having nothing else as a weapon, and turned to follow in his friend’s footsteps as Daizu pelted down the riverbank, towards the path that led back towards the village.

He could hear them behind him and he ran as hard as he could, heart hammering in his chest. Then there was a whistling sound and he stumbled as a thin cord whipped around his ankles, a weight on one end continuing to wrap itself around him before getting tangled in the stick he was still carrying with him as he ran. By the time he had struggled free of the rope, they were almost upon him and there was no longer any chance of running. Chomei planted himself with his back to a wide, thick bush and raised his stick, setting himself into a defensive stance. He wasn’t going to be able to hold them off, he was sure, but he could try to make them regret their actions. And he was angry as well as afraid. These men were on his father’s lands and attacking his people. People that Chomei would also be sworn to protect in only a few years time. He snarled his defiance at them as they approached, the memory of the sight of Endo’s familiar, friendly face twisted in pain almost blotting out his vision. 

“Little samurai with a stick,” one of the men sneered. “Put the stick down, boy, and we won’t hurt you.”

“Like you did not hurt Endo-san and Osaku-san?” Chomei spat. “You are honourless scum and your word is worth less than dog piss.”

“He’s got a mouth on him,” snorted another of the men. “Just grab him. That girl got away with the horse. They’re going to know about this sooner than we’d like.”

Rolling his eyes, the first man lunged forward. Chomei slid to the side and brought the stick down hard on the outstretched hand with all the force he was capable of. There was a loud crack and the man stumbled to the side, gasping with pain. “Kuso!”

“You alright there, Fubatsu-san?” one of the others asked, clearly holding back his laughter. “Did the little samurai-boy with a stick win that one?”

“You can rot in Jigoku, Rohata-san,” Fubatsu said, gingerly opening and closing his hand, wincing. “Go on, you grab him, then.”

The one called Rohata snorted and stepped forward. Chomei shifted his stance, following the man’s movements even as he tried to also keep an eye on the other two men as well. When Rohata lunged towards him, he was already stepping sideways out of the grasp of the third man, who had tried to flank him. His stick slashed upwards at the same time, catching Rohata on the cheek and splitting the skin there. Rohata jumped backwards, cursing.

“What’s the matter, Rohata-san,” Fubatsu jeered, “did the little samurai-boy with a stick win that one?”

Chomei’s heart was pounding and adrenaline was searing through his veins, but his breathing had slowed. He had never felt so scared or so alive. Everything around him seemed sharp-edged and somehow more real than it usually was. He saw the looks Rohata threw the two other uninjured heimin and knew that all three were going to try at once. He had managed to avoid two of them. Could he avoid all three?

The bush behind him was broad and thick and tall. It was also, he knew, much more hollow in its centre. While he hadn’t played in this particular bush, the tangled brown branches inside the green foliage of the one near the village were a favourite hiding place. 

With the icy clarity of his sharp-edged vision, he saw the signal that had them jumping forward. He thrust the stick forward, directly towards Rohata’s face. As the man flinched backwards, Chomei dropped his stick and fell to his knees, under the grasping hands of the other two men. He spun and dove down and backwards, scrambling under the thick, thorny branches of the bush and into the empty centre. A hand grabbed at his ankle and he kicked at the grasping fingers with his other foot, scraping at his own skin as he drove the sole of his foot down over the bump of his ankle bone. There was a curse and his foot was free. He pulled himself upright in the dim interior and glanced quickly around the inside of the bush, ignoring the yelling of the men from outside. The lower branches were thick enough, but the upper ones rapidly thinned out. They would support him, but not any of the men who were after him. He would be trapped, but he was already trapped. There was a crackling crash as a sword slashed at the foliage and Chomei scurried up the intertwined branches of the enormous bush like a squirrel.

Rohata stepped through the gap he had carved in the bush’s outer shell and stared around, then up. “Kuso,” he said, with feeling. “Kid, you are a pain in the ass. Taka-san, get in here.”

There was a rustle as another bandit pushed himself through the gap and into the centre. He was larger and stronger looking and had a wicked scar that ran from his right cheekbone back down across his jaw, under his ear, and down his neck. “What do you want for me to do?”

“I’m going up after him. You just be ready to grab him.”

The big man nodded and positioned himself almost directly below where Chomei was clinging firmly to two thin branches while standing on a third that was probably only just strong enough to support him. 

Rohata began to climb the bush, carefully testing the branches before putting his full weight on them. He only managed to make it halfway up to where Chomei was before they could no longer support his weight and he glared up at the boy. “Come down, little samurai. We aren’t going to hurt you. You’re worth too much.”

Ah. Kidnapping and ransom. That made sense. At least Chomei had managed to make it so that they only had access to one child, not to all of them. He wondered how long he would have to hold out before rescue arrived. Too long, probably. But he could try. He shook his head. “I am not going to make your dishonourable actions easier for you to accomplish,” he said, realising as the words came out of his mouth that he had used the most arrogant, Crane-inflected tone he could. 

“I could just light this bush on fire,” Rohata pointed out.

“And bring my father down on you that much sooner?” Chomei asked, hoping desperately that the man was bluffing.

“No, you are right. That would be rather obvious, wouldn’t it?” Rohata said. He shifted his feet on the branch he was standing on and the others around him swayed. Chomei redoubled his grip. Rohata shifted again, watching as the movement caused the bush to shiver and shake. He grinned then and moved a little closer to the main central trunk where three thick stems reached upwards, smaller branches jutting out from them. The man’s eyes tracked the branch Chomei was perched on back to the centre and the man grabbed hold of their parent stem. He gave it an experimental shake and the branches Chomei was clinging to shivered and shook underneath him.

“One way or another, you are coming down, kid.”

Chomei shook his head.

“Have it your way.” The man set himself, one foot on the junction of the branch he was standing on and both hands around the stem, then he began to shake and haul on the central stem with all the force of his weight and muscles. The ripples of motion moved out along the connected branches, gaining momentum as they moved out, away from the centre. Chomei was jerked back and forth as the branches he was holding onto reacted to the man’s erratic motions. He managed to hold on for several long minutes before his foot slipped from the branch and then he was hanging in midair, feet scrabbling to regain purchase. Another jerk of the central stem and Chomei’s grip failed and he was falling, crashing down through the branches to land flat on his back on the leaf-litter below. He flung his arms out, trying to fall the way he had been taught, but the force of it still drove all the breath from him. Before he could recover, he had been grabbed, both wrists held painfully behind his back as he was hauled out from the inside of the bush. A rough sack was pulled over his head and tied in place and his wrists were bound behind him.

“You got him Taka-san?” That was Rohata’s voice.

“Hai.” Chomei was lifted and thrown over the big man’s shoulder. What little breath he had managed to regain whooshed out of him.

“Right. Let’s get out of here. We’re going to have to leave Kaukatsu-san’s body behind. Let Akodo Aromoro-sama have the joy of dealing with it.”

“This was supposed to be an easy job, Rohata-san,” Fubatsu complained. “I think the little bastard broke my wrist.”

“Well, at least you aren’t dead from being stabbed through the heart,” Rohata replied. “We got one of them and it’s the one he wanted the most. Let’s go.”

Chapter Text

Jiromasu had been peacefully meditating by a small shrine near the koi pond when there was the sound of hoofbeats coming down the road and a clear young voice yelling for its mother and father over the sound of a shrieking child.

Jiromasu was on his feet and moving before he had even fully comprehended what he had heard and he was one of the first to make it to where a wild-eyed Kaoru was pulling the pony to a stop outside the front door, four terrified youngsters crammed on its back ahead of her, the youngest of them shrieking hysterically.

Jiromasu leaped forward to hold the horse’s head as various adults converged on the group, pulling the tear-stained children from the horse’s back. Kaoru slipped down off the horse and pulled the screaming youngest into her arms, trying to shush him as she turned to move into the house. She stopped, her face clearly demonstrating her relief as her parents came hurrying out of the door.

“Father!” she said. The child in her arms began shrieking louder when it saw Meisuki and the woman hurried forward to lift the toddler into her arms.

“Kaoru-chan, what is wrong?” Aromoro’s voice was urgent and clipped.

“There were bandits,” Kaoru said. “They killed Endo-san. Osaku-san told us to run. Chomei and Daizu-kun helped get the children on the horse and then…” her lip trembled, “and then I left them there. I had to get the little ones safe.”

Jiromasu swore softly and turned his eyes down the street, looking to see if the others were following behind. But they would not have kept up with a horse.

“How many?” Aromoro’s voice throbbed with an intensity that Jiromasu could feel down to his bones.

Kaoru screwed her eyes shut, clearly trying to remember. “F…five? Five. They had swords and knives, but no katana.”

Aromoro spun around to where the watching heimin were all wide-eyed and waiting.

“Get the horses saddled. Ring the gong. Meisuki-san, see to the village defenses. Two to remain with you, two to come with me. Send healers and travois and eta after me. And find Kazu-san. We may need him.”

“I will go with you,” Jiromasu said, handing the reins of the pony to one of the heimin that had not immediately scurried off to fulfil their lord’s orders. The sound of a gong, deep-toned and carrying, shivered in the air.

Aromoro glanced over at him and nodded sharply. “Saddle the Kakita’s horse as well,” he said, then turned and ran into the house.

Jiromasu ran as well, sprinting for his room where his armour was hanging on a stand. He quickly struggled into his under-armour layers and then began to lace the armour itself into place. There was a knock at the door and then it opened, Akodo Nikako slipping into the room.

“I will help you,” she said, moving towards him.

Jiromasu hesitated for the briefest moment before nodding. The girl’s fingers were deft and clearly used to this task and soon he was fully suited up and adjusting the Moonlit Blade on his hip. Nikako stepped backwards, her lips pursed.

“Chomei-kun was sworn to your care, yes?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jiromasu said. It could be said that he was responsible for the boy simply on the journey here and back, not while he was actually with his family, but that was irrelevant at this point.

“Bring him back,” she said. “Bring him back to us, or avenge him.”

“Yes.” He turned and hurried from the room.

There had been a great deal of activity in the time it had taken him to get into his armour. The heimin of the village were in a bustle of activity. Meisuki was the eye of the storm with the now-silent toddler still on her hip, crisp orders flying from her lips. Aromoro’s sister, in Akodo armour and with a katana at her hip, stood beside her sister-in-law, eyes watchful. Two heimin, whom Jiromasu knew worked in the stables, were leading four horses, including his, out to the road in front of the house. Jiromasu was pleased to see that a bow was attached behind each saddle. He had not brought his and it was often a useful tool when going into battle.

Aromoro came striding out of the house with two gi-samurai at his heels, one of them Daizu’s father. The Akodo patriarch nodded to Jiromasu as he settled his helmet with its lion’s mane on his head and swung up onto the back of his horse. Jiromasu settled his own helmet into place and mounted as well. Without another word needed, all four samurai wheeled their horses and took off down the street.

Riding at speed, it did not take them long to make it down to the river path and they thundered along it towards the place where the children had picnicked. Halfway there, they ran across Daizu, red-faced, out of breath, but still running. They pulled up briefly.

“Where is Chomei-kun?” Daizu’s father said, clearly relieved to see his son, but focused more on the missing.

“He was behind me,” Daizu panted. “Then he wasn’t. They killed Endo-san and Osaku-san!”

“Get back to the village and help Meisuki-sama,” his father said. “Help Kaoru-chan keep all the children calm and safe until the all-clear.”

“Yes, Father,” Daizu said.

They kicked their horses into motion again, cantering along the path until they reached the open field that had been the children’s destination. The grass showed evidence of a great deal of movement back and forth across it, and they slowed to a trot as they moved out into the meadow proper. Dark forms on the ground could be seen and they moved towards them cautiously. Jiromasu thought it was two bodies at first, but as they came closer, they could see that one of the crumpled forms was lying on top of another. The third was lying face down a little ways away and when Jiromasu saw how he had died, he drew a sharp breath.

“Archers!” he said, wheeling his horse to present a smaller target to the suddenly threatening line of trees on the far side of the meadow. That sudden movement was what saved him, an arrow whistling past him. A thump and a cry of pain told him that there were at least two archers and that the second one had not missed his mark. Keeping his horse moving in an erratic pattern, he made for the trees, unslinging his borrowed bow from behind him and nocking an arrow. There… movement in the brush. Jiromasu brought the bow up, drew, and fired in one smooth movement, the arrow thudding into a tree trunk where his target had been a moment before. Another arrow whistled through the air, though he did not think he was the intended target. Movement. Jiromasu drew and fired again and this time his arrow found its mark, the archer suddenly standing up straight as he clawed at the arrow piercing his throat, then toppling over. Another arrow flew from the screening rows of bushes, but Jiromasu did not see precisely where it had come from.

One of the gi-samurai galloped past Jiromasu, crashing into the bushes approximately where the previous arrow had emerged, flushing the archer from its hiding place. Jiromasu sent an arrow after him. It took the archer in the back and the man fell, scrabbling at the bracken beneath him.

No more arrows. Either there had only been two archers, or any remaining ones had fled.

Jiromasu wheeled his horse to check the battle scene and swore. Aromoro’s horse was down and thrashing out its death throes, an arrow embedded deep in its chest, and Aromoro was caught beneath the dying beast. The other gi-samurai was trying to roll the creature up enough to extricate his superior, but was hampered by the broken-off arrow shaft in his own shoulder.

Jiromasu left Daizu’s father to clearing the rest of the copse of trees and rode back to help. As the dying horse finally fell still, he lashed a rope around its neck and used his horse’s strength to pull the creature’s front quarters up, letting the gi-samurai grab hold of Aromoro’s hand with his good arm and pull him from beneath it. The man was pale and his face was covered in sweat from the pain he was fighting. His foot and leg were twisted at an uncomfortable angle, blood slowly seeping through his pant leg, and Jiromasu grimaced. That was a bad break.

Leaving the injured gi-samurai to see to his superior, Jiromasu moved over to check the bodies on the ground. The man with the arrow in his back was Endo and he was most certainly dead, his face turned sideways and eyes blank and staring, clouded with death. Then he turned to the other two. Grimacing with distaste, Jiromasu grabbed hold of the topmost body and rolled it over onto its back. Dark, sticky blood stained the man’s clothing where the handle of a small knife protruded from his chest, inserted up under his ribcage. It had been a precise blow and Jiromasu looked over at the woman who had been laying unmoving beneath the bandit’s corpse. Blood coated half her head, but as he watched, her chest rose and fell in a shallow breath.

Abandoning the dead bandit, he turned to her, carefully running his hands over her body to check for damage. Other than the nasty wound on her head and what appeared to be a few broken fingers on her right hand, she seemed to have suffered no more than bruises and scrapes. Head wounds bled badly, and he was unsure of how much damage the impact to her skull had done, but it was entirely possible she would live.

It was something positive to take away from this mess of a situation.

He helped get Aromoro as comfortable as possible, then returned to help Katai Osen, Daizu’s father, in ensuring that the copse of woods was free from any other threats. By the time they had completed a sweep of the woods and the surrounding areas, there was noise from the pathway towards the village and a cluster of heimin arrived. Jiromasu waved them over.

In fairly short order, the unconscious woman had been checked over and transferred onto a travois that was being carefully pulled back to the village by a stout young man whose girth was clearly mostly muscle, and the two heimin who must be the primary healers for the village had carefully slit the seam of their lord’s hakama in order to pull the cloth aside and were examining where the fractured bone had pierced through the skin.

“We need to set the bone, Aromoro-sama,” the elder of the two said, apologetically. “It will hurt a great deal, and you must not move. We will need to have people hold you still.”

Aromoro glared at the woman and then grudgingly nodded. “Osen-san. Jiromasu-san.”

Surprised and vaguely flattered, Jiromasu nodded and moved forward with Osen. The healer had Osen hold down the Akodo’s shoulders and directed Jiromasu to hold down the thigh on the man’s injured leg while a third man, a lean heimin with a pinched, thin-lipped face and dark, suspicious eyes, pinned his uninjured leg down as well. The younger healer offered his lord a piece of wood to bite down on, but the man shook his head. “Just do it,” he said, lying his head back down on the dirt.

With fascinated horror, Jiromasu watched as the two quickly sluiced the bone and broken skin with water and then with some form of strong smelling, astringent liquid that had Aromoro’s breath hissing between his teeth. Then they grasped the lower leg and slowly began to twist and turn and pull on the limb. The Akodo’s muscles tensed beneath Jiromasu’s hands as he bore down on the man’s thigh with all his weight, but the injured samurai made no sound beyond gasping, panting breaths as the bone slowly slipped back beneath the skin and the limb straightened.

There was a pause as the two healer conferred, running fingers along the line of the shin. “Just a little more, Aromoro-sama,” the older healer said with what Jiromasu considered to be inappropriate cheerfulness. Considering what the injured samurai proceeded to call the woman, he felt similarly but she simply patted his good leg then grasped his ankle again, closing her eyes to focus as she pulled and twisted until she gave a sharp nod and released her hold.

“Will you take poppy for the pain, my lord?” she asked, gesturing those holding him down to release him and beginning the task of bandaging the wound and splinting the leg.

“Not yet.” The Akodo’s voice was rough-edged and he looked exhausted. “Jiromasu-san…” he paused and Jiromasu could read a great many conflicting feelings chasing each other through the man’s eyes. Then he clearly made his decision. “Jiromasu-san, will you take Osen-san and Kazu-san and find my son?” He gestured at the heimin who had pinned his other leg as he spoke, clearly the Kazu he was speaking of.

It was not a question that required any thought. He had promised as much already to Nikako and though primary care for the boy was clearly his family’s concern while he was visiting them, the boy remained his responsibility as well.

“Hai,” he said immediately.

The older man nodded, then reached up to fumble around his neck before pulling out a carved metal medallion that held the weight of time in its softened edges. “Take this, in case you need to prove you speak with my voice,” he said. “Osen-san, Kazu-san…” he paused and then shook his head, turning back to Jiromasu. “Kazu-san is the best tracker I have ever worked with. He will find them for you. And Osen-san is a good swordsman. Better than I am some days.” He paused again. “Most days,” he corrected himself.

“But I do not have your head for strategy, Aromoro-sama,” Osen said.

Aromoro snorted. “I do not need your flattery, Osen-san. Not when, to my shame, I was just so thoroughly out-maneuverer. Go. Find Chomei-kun and bring him home.”

Osaku reached out and gripped the man’s forearm. “We will find him.” Then he looked to Jiromasu. “Do we bring the horses?”

Jiromasu looked around at the terrain and then nodded, glancing over at Kazu. “Can you ride, Kazu-san?” he asked.

“Yes, Kakita-sama,” the man said. His voice was high and nasal. “But I won’t be able to right away, not if you want me tracking.”

Jiromasu nodded. “We will lead the horses until they become necessary. But they are a tool I would be loath to find myself in want of, given we do not know what we will be facing in the next few hours. Come. Let us go find the boy and bring him home. It would not do to disrupt Nikako-san’s wedding day any more than it already will be. Kazu-san, I know that our efforts against the archers will have made your job more difficult. Do you have any thoughts regarding where you wish to start? Osaku-san and I will gather the horses and endeavour to be patient while you determine where we must go.”

***

Being carried this way - bound, eyes covered, slung over the shoulder of a man moving at an appreciable speed - was nausea-inducing and Chomei grimly focused on not vomiting. It would have been incredibly unpleasant and would have made the entire situation even worse and he already had enough to worry about. They had left archers behind and the idea of any more of his people dying to these… these honourless bakayarou was enough to make him want to scream in frustration that he could not warn them.

What if they killed his father?

No. He could not believe that the Ancestors would allow that. His father was too honourable, too well respected for such a thing to happen to him.

An interminable time later, they came to a stop and Chomei was placed on the ground with a moderate amount of care, though his shoulders still twinged from both the uncomfortable position with his hands bound behind his back and from having fallen at least fifteen feet through the branches of the bush to the ground. The cloth of the sack over his head was coarsely woven and he could faintly smell the smoke from a fire and hear people moving around.

“Alright. Go let him know we have the cub.”

There was the sound of someone running and then another pair of hands hauled him into a sitting position and untied the sack and pulled it from his head.

“How are you doing there, uzai?” It was Rohata who was talking to him. The scab on the man’s cheekbone gave Chomei a small surge of angry pride. He might have been captured, but he had made them work for it. But now he was helpless and at their mercy and antagonising them was not likely to end well.

“I am going to throw up,” he said flatly. “I spent the last few hours upside down while being swung back and forth and assaulted by Taka’s stench. He smells like an unwashed eta.” Chomei snapped his mouth shut and managed not to wince at the furious, unwise words that had made their way unbidden from his mouth. There was a growl from Taka as Rohata took a cautious step backwards, out of range of any effluent.

“Get him some water,” Rohata said, and another man, one that Chomei did not recognise from the attack by the river, came up with a cup, tipping it up to his mouth. Chomei drank gratefully. The water was cold and did help to settle his stomach.

“Alright, little samurai. Just sit there quietly and try not to make any more trouble.” Rohata stood and went over to a pack, fishing around in it for something, then turning to talk quietly to another of the men in the clearing.

It was probably another hour of waiting before anything interesting happened, and Chomei was torn between boredom and dread. They had spoken of “him” and, as there was clearly no one here at this camp who had the kind of authority that the weight given to the word indicated, there was obviously someone who had final say on what the next steps were now that they had Chomei in their power. So it was an hour of watching the half-dozen men around the camp bicker, play cards, and whittle. One man was cheerfully chopping vegetables into a pot over the fire. It was all strangely normal, like watching heimin soldiers passing time around a camp, but without the tight discipline to be found in his father’s commands.

Eventually, there was the sound of hooves and a half-dozen men arrived, three on horseback, with katana on their hip, and three following behind on foot in ashigaru armour. The samurai dismounted and stepped forward. They bore Ikoma mon and the one in the centre was clearly in charge. He glanced over at where Chomei was seated in sullen silence by the fire. The man’s face took on a look of satisfaction and he turned back to face Rohata, who appeared to be speaking for the bandits.

“Report.”

Rohata gave a brief summary of the situation that explained the basics but, Chomei noted, carefully minimised the fact that most of the children had escaped and that the one child they had captured had managed to make that process considerably harder than it could have been. However, it would seem that he truly had been the main target of this attack, as the samurai merely nodded, seemingly unperturbed by the fact that there was only one hostage, not seven.

“Akodo Chomei.” The man looked at Chomei and smiled thinly, but there was something about the smile that made the skin on the back of his neck prickle. Jiromasu’s smile when he had first met him had made Chomei jumpy at first, but there was something about the Kakita that had managed to settle Chomei’s hackles and had let him know that the tiny smirk was not a threat. This man, a Lion and thus someone whom he should consider more trustworthy than a Crane, smiled in a way that sent cold shivers down Chomei’s spine.

“That’s the one. Aromoro-sama’s cub. Home for his sister’s wedding.”

The Ikoma nodded. Then he and his men all drew their swords and fell upon the bandits.

Chomei watched in wide-eyed horror as the bandits, taken completely unawares, struggled to defend themselves. One of those furthest away grabbed a bow, got some distance, and managed to take out one of the ashigaru before falling to an Ikoma katana. Another simply turned and fled, crashing through the undergrowth of the forest in wild panic. The Ikoma leader looked up at the noise, whistled sharply, and gestured after the feeling man. One of the samurai swung back up onto his horse and headed after the escaping bandit.

It was over in mere minutes, the bandits all dead on the dirt of the clearing. Chomei looked up at the Ikoma, so shocked that he was not sure how to react. Was he about to be killed as well? He swallowed and pulled himself up onto his knees. He might have to die kneeling, but he would not do it cowering.

“On your feet, Akodo Chomei-kun,” the Ikoma said. “I am Ikoma Masatari. You will be coming with me.”

Chomei glanced around the camp full of slaughtered bandits and struggled to his feet, one of the ashigaru coming over to help him with a hand at his elbow. They had not, Chomei noted, offered to untie him. Rohata’s body lay nearby, his face still twisted in an expression of surprise and betrayal, eyes wide and unseeing, and Chomei shuddered and looked away. He had no problem with the man being dead, but he had also just been alive, had recently ordered someone to offer Chomei water. And now he and Taka and the man who had provided the water were all dead. Gone to atone for their actions before Emma-O.

The samurai that had left to ride down the fleeing bandit returned, wiping his blade free of blood, while the ashigaru were strapping a few long branches together to make a travois to transport the body of their fallen comrade. There didn’t seem to be any intention of dealing with the bandit bodies. Chomei frowned. That was how you ended up with the unquiet dead. He bit his lip but did not say anything. If… when he escaped this, he would make sure that his father knew about the bodies and that they were properly disposed of. Angry ghosts roaming the countryside were a risk to the prosperity of the province and the safety of its inhabitants.

Masatari had caught his expression, though he misinterpreted it as concern for the deaths themselves. “Do not trouble yourself, Akodo-kun,” the man said dismissively. “They were heimin who would take koku to steal samurai children. They had no honour.” One of the samurai, who had been going through the various boxes and bags in the camp, walked over to Masatari and handed him a bag he had just fished out from one of the packs. It clinked and Masatari put it into a pouch attached to his belt.

“As you say,” Chomei said. The man’s words had been completely sincere and chillingly indifferent to the fact that he had been the one to pay for that theft. He was pretty sure that this man’s understanding of honour and his were not in alignment.

Chomei remained silent as he followed the orders given over the next few minutes as the group prepared to leave. He was put up on one of the horses, perched uncomfortably in front of the saddle of the samurai who had ridden down the fleeing bandit. His hands, still bound behind him, were going numb, but he did not mention it. Instead, he clung grimly to the horse with his knees as they headed off back the way the Ikoma had come from.

Some half hour after they left, they passed the body of a heimin sprawled out on the ground of a clearing. None of the others glanced in its direction, which was enough to tell Chomei the fate of the messenger the bandit camp had sent to inform Masatari of their partial success. They travelled on for another couple of hours and by the time they were approaching a remarkably solidly built keep that rose three stories into the air on the edge of a ravine, the sun had set and the stars were beginning to sparkle in the deepening twilight.

They dismounted in the courtyard. The two ashigaru, along with some other heimin who had appeared when they arrived, had dragged the dead man off.

“Come along.” Masatari headed into the keep, turning up a flight of stairs and climbing up them to the topmost floor. Even the interior walls of the keep were solid wood, not paper partitions, and he stopped outside a room which featured a solid iron lock. He nodded to the samurai escorting Chomei, who pulled a knife and slit the rope binding his hands behind his back. Chomei slowly and gingerly brought them around in front of him, wincing at the ache in his shoulders.

“This will be your room while you’re with us,” Masatari said. He gestured for Chomei to enter. Chomei glanced at the lock on the door, then at Masatari, then stepped forward into his cell. It wasn’t like he had an option.

The room on the inside was a surprise. It was a standard bedroom, with a comfortable looking bed, a desk with writing supplies, and some books on a low table. There were also several bottles on a shelf that Chomei would guess had water in them and a screen to one side that he thought probably hid a chamberpot. A lamp on one table was lit and giving off a warm glow that illuminated the room, as the one small, narrow window was closed, its shutters blocking out the cold night air. As the door closed behind him and the lock snicked, Chomei looked at that window with interest. It was small. Too small for a man to exit through, though large enough for an archer to shoot from. However, Chomei was not a man. Not yet. While well-grown for his age, he was still a child. He would fit. The question was… would it matter?

He had to wait before he could check, however, biting his lip against the pain as sensation slowly returned to his fingers. He stretched out his arms and shoulders while his hands tingled and burned, and he swore silently to himself. His upper body was not in great shape, and if he was going to be able to go out the window to escape, that was going to be a problem. They were three stories up. Climbing was going to be an inevitable necessity.

Eventually, his fingers had recovered sensation, though they still felt swollen and clumsy, and he moved over to the window, unbarring the shutter and pulling it open, looking out. The room faced the ravine and as he peeked over the side, there was a sense of intense vertigo as he looked down onto the shadowed tree-tops in the ravine that ran alongside the keep. That was a long way down.

Ignoring the spike of fear, Chomei examined the side of the building. Then he smiled. It wasn’t going to be an easy climb, but it was a doable one. The biggest trick was going to be getting out of the window and down to the first set of holds that he could see. He had only a rough idea of where he was, compared to home, but that was good enough. There was no way he was staying here with this man who had abducted him, who had been the cause of Endo-san and Osaku-san’s deaths. He carefully closed the window, settled the bar back into place, and then took stock of what he had available to him in the room.

His plans made as well as they could be, he sat down on the bed and stared at the lamp’s steadily burning flame for a few minutes. He needed to wait until it was fully dark and the keep had settled for the night and he was sure he wouldn’t be disturbed. His mind bounced from worry to worry… about what would happen if he escaped and was caught again… had the archers left behind killed any more of his people…what would happen if he got lost trying to find the way home… what would happen if he slipped and fell from the side of the building… how deep was that ravine… would it make more sense to stay here and wait for his father to come… and he got to his feet with a growl. He had made his decision. He was not going to wait here like some helpless infant. He reached for the books, determined to focus on something other than the pointless review of horrible options that threatened to undermine his courage. There were three books on the table. Leadership by Akodo Haru. Army of the Emperor by Ikoma Sukihama. Honour of the Ancestors by Kitsu Ochiyo. His father had a copy of Leadership and Chomei had fond memories of his father reading some of the passages from the book out to him, discussing with him when and where he would apply the famed Akodo’s teachings. He hesitated for a moment, wondering if the familiar text would help or hinder him in his quest to calm his mind, then pulled it forward and flipped it open.

It turned out to be interesting to read the text as a whole and Chomei managed to lose himself in the ancient Akodo’s words until footsteps outside the door and the click of the lock heralded a visitor. He looked up from the book, heart suddenly pounding.

“Dinner, Chomei-kun,” the Ikoma at the door said, stepping aside to let the heimin behind him come in with the tray.

“Thank you,” Chomei said politely. The Ikoma nodded. It was not the one who had chased down the bandit but the other who had been in the clearing.

“Sleep well,” the samurai said blandly, pushing the door closed as the heimin, having delivered the tray, turned around and left the room. There was the click of the lock and Chomei let out a breath, his shoulders dropping. Whatever Ikoma Masatari intended, terrorising or starving Chomei did not appear to be part of the plan.

Dinner was a large bowl of noodles in a rich broth, with cabbage and mushrooms and a boiled egg floating in it. Chomei’s stomach growled at the smell. It had been a long time since lunch on the riverbank and a lot had happened since then. He pulled the bowl towards him and quickly wolfed down the meal, then gave a sigh of satisfaction when he was done, the last of the nausea from having been carried around upside down by Taka finally overcome. He poured himself a cup of tea from the small teapot that had accompanied the meal and turned back to the book. He would give it another hour. It was full dark now and, from what the Ikoma had said, he wouldn’t be disturbed until morning. He shifted to get more comfortable on the tatami mat, feeling some of the tension across his shoulders relax. Soon.

He read for a few more minutes before his eyes began to feel heavy and the words began to swim on the page. He shook his head to try and clear it and got to his feet, intending to open the window for some cold air to wake himself up, but getting to his feet caused his head to spin. He swore as realisation dawned, staring at the empty food bowl sitting on its tray over by the door where he had placed it. They’d drugged him. How could Masatari speak so easily of the bandits having no honour? He’d drugged him. Briefly, Chomei considered trying to escape down the tower wall anyways, but the memory of the shadowed depths of the ravine and the spiky tops of the trees swaying far below the window were enough to make him acknowledge how poorly that was likely to go. 

Kuso.

He stumbled over to the water flasks on the shelf and hesitated. Would they be drugged as well? He bit his lip as he tried to force his now-foggy brain to think. He doubted it. They had been left here for him to drink and too much of any drug would be dangerous and they didn’t seem to want to harm him. At least, not yet. He pulled one down and unstoppered it and drank half the bottle, hoping to help flush whatever they had fed him through his system. Then he sighed and headed for the bed. Escape was not happening tonight, so he might as well rest.

The click of the lock the next morning woke him and he startled upright in the bed, hissing as the movement pulled on cramped muscles in his back. It was the same Ikoma and the same heimin with another tray of food. Chomei groaned and rubbed at crusted eyes. His mouth felt like something small and fuzzy had crawled in there and died and he was sure that his expression was sour.

“Good morning, Chomei-kun,” the samurai said. “I hope you slept well.”

“Far better than I expected,” Chomei said, with heavy irony.

The Ikoma merely nodded. “We have brought you breakfast. You will join Masatari-sama for dinner tonight. Is there anything you need, beyond what you have been provided with?”

“No, thank you,” Chomei said.

The Ikoma gave a ghost of a smile at the polite response, then frowned as a bell began to chime deep within the keep. “So soon?” He motioned the heimin out of the room and quickly closed the door, locking it again.

Chomei, ignoring the bowl of food, ran to the window and pulled it open. Faintly, very faintly, he heard a voice calling out, calling the keep. A voice he recognised. A voice that caused his stomach to drop, because it was not his father’s voice, it was Jiromasu-sama’s. And if Jiromasu-sama was here and calling for the attention of the keep, where was his father?

But Jiromasu-sama wouldn’t be here alone. Surely he wouldn’t. Crane were arrogant, but not stupid, and Jiromasu-sama had always seemed to know exactly what he was doing. But Ikoma Masatari clearly did not find himself bound to honourable behaviour, and Chomei still wasn’t sure why he had been kidnapped, beyond that it must be something to do with his father.

He ran to the bed and stripped it of its blanket, quickly ripping it into strips and then tying their ends together. He tied the improvised rope to the leg of the table and turned the table sideways against the wall, the tail end of the blanket-rope thrown out the hastily opened shutters. Attention would all be on the forward side of the keep right now, where Jiromasu-sama’s voice continued to echo through the early morning air; there wouldn’t be a better time during daylight for Chomei to try for his escape. His improvised rope would be long enough to get him down to where he could access some handholds. Then it should be simple enough, though not easy. He hoped. He swallowed, trying not to think about how far down it was to the bottom of the ravine.  Don’t look down. That was something he had learned at the Kakita school while trying his hand at scaling the central tower. Don’t look down.

With some difficulty, he managed to scramble up onto the edge of the table and began to wiggle backwards out the narrow window slit. It was a very tight fit, but eventually he was hanging with his legs out in space, the sill of the window pressed into his stomach. Gritting his teeth, he grabbed hold of the rope, flailed with one foot to wind the end of it around one leg, and moved further back, holding himself up by his elbows. Then he lowered himself so that all his weight was on the cloth rope. The sudden weight on the knotted blankets caused the table to slide upwards in a rush and he gritted his teeth and held on as it jerked to a stop, far too wide to fit through the window. The sore muscles in his shoulders protested, but his grip did not falter and the knots held and Chomei let himself breath again as he reached out with one foot to wedge his toes into a promising foothold. He released one hand from the rope to grab hold of an unevenly cut end-beam, and then he was safely on the wall - for a given value of safe - with a yawning chasm beneath his feet. Chomei swallowed hard. He’d done it. He’d gotten out of his room and onto the wall. Now the only way forward was down.

Chomei began to climb.

Chapter Text

Aromoro had been put on a travois and was being carefully taken back to the village by the time Kazu finished his survey of the grounds. The samurai had been persuaded by the healer to take some of the poppy syrup she had and the lines of pain that had been seaming his face had relaxed a little. Jiromasu was glad. Journey by travois was quite bumpy and even with his leg splinted and the pain relief, it was going to be an uncomfortable journey back to his home.

“I found where they caught him,” Kazu said. He held up a long, straight stick that had been cleanly cut from its parent stem. “He fought back.”

“And do you know which direction they went?” Jiromasu asked, staring at the stick for a long moment. A stick was fine to spar with. Against a true opponent, however… But the boy had courage, certainly.

“Yes. Other side of the copse of trees. Once they caught him, they carried him. But there were four of them that left. They left a trail.”

Jiromasu nodded. “Then let’s go,” he said. “The sooner we find them, the sooner Chomei-kun can be retrieved.”

They headed off, the two samurai leading the mounts as they followed their heimin tracker. It had been dry for some time, so the trace was faint, but he did not seem to have much trouble following the trail and Jiromasu left the man to it, keeping his eyes roving for possible threats. The arrows from ambush had heightened his sense of the danger facing them, despite the fact that he doubted they would leave any more such hazards along their back-trail. It had been an excellent strategy to force them to follow more slowly and with greater caution, however, and that meant that their quarry was getting further and further ahead of them.

It was early evening when they smelled woodsmoke on the breeze and Jiromasu called Kazu to a halt. “I cannot imagine that the smoke comes from anything but our quarry’s camp,” he said. “We are close. We will leave the horses here and continue with caution.”

It wasn’t long before they found the source of the wood smoke, the fire burned down to sullenly glowing embers. Jiromasu stood at the edge of the clearing with his hands on his hips, considering the slaughtered bandits. His initial swooping fear had quickly dissipated - none of the bodies were small enough to have been Chomei - but now they were faced with another question. What had happened?

“Were there two factions and they had a falling out?” he asked aloud. He had not moved forward to check any bodies, not wishing to further confuse the tracks and trace.

“It is going to be hard to tell, Kakita-sama,” Kazu said. “There were many of them, and they had been here for some time.”

Jiromasu nodded. “Do what you can.”

He waited as patiently as he could while Kazu quartered the ground and Osen backtracked to retrieve the horses. Eventually, Kazu returned. “Men arrived from that direction, Kakita-sama,” the man said, gesturing. “Three on horseback. Several on foot.” He glanced around the clearing. “They fought, and then they left. They put the boy up onto one of the horses and took him with them.”

“Alive.” Jiromasu felt a small surge of relief, despite the fact that he had expected this to be the case. It was one thing to believe it likely, another to have it confirmed.

“It would seem so,” Kazu agreed.

Jiromasu nodded. “Very well.” He glanced around the clearing, his lips pursed. Leaving the dead splayed out like this, not properly tended to, went against his sense of the appropriate. He sighed. He didn’t have the ability to send a message to anyone to come deal with the dead and could not afford the time right now. They would have to wait until he returned to the village with Chomei.

They continued on their way into the fading light. Just as they were considering stopping for the night - Kazu was beginning to have trouble following the trail - they came upon another clearing and yet another sprawled body. Kazu ranged over the ground of the clearing and then stood up straight, scratching his chin.

“Looks like the group that killed all them bandits was waiting here,” Kazu said.

“And got word of their return,” Jiromasu said, staring down at the body. “It would seem that it was not an unexpected argument, but a planned strike. But one from those the kidnappers thought were allies.” He glanced around the clearing again. “This would make a good place to camp for the night,” he said. “Except for…” he gestured at the dead man sprawled on the leaf litter.

“I can move him out of the way, Kakita-sama,” Kazu said grudgingly. “It’s too dark for me to go on, not without risking losing the trail.”

“Do so,” Jiromasu said, nodding.

He got a fire going while Kazu dragged the bandit’s body off into the bushes and grimaced. It was going to be a cold and hungry night, as they had not left the village with the expectation of an extended hunt. They got the horses untacked and then Osen took them off to drink at the small stream that ran down a nearby furrow in the hill. Jiromasu stretched out on the ground, his head pillowed on his saddle, and stared up at the stars that peeked through the gap in the canopy above. There was a flutter of wings in the gloom and then a sparrow landed on his chest. His lips twitched as his mind was briefly derailed from considering the many possible roads the current situation could take. Kagami.

“I hope you are staying out of trouble, Jiromasu.” Her whispered voice held a trace of concern. She had been worried about him travelling alone through Lion lands, despite the peace between their provinces. It wasn’t an unreasonable fear to have, though the trouble they found themselves in right now did not yet show any obvious ties to the Crane. “I have finished my unified translation of the Shiba Scrolls. We will see what they have to say at the Phoenix library when I next visit Kiri no Machi. I’m surprised no one else has done this work, but then, they are somewhat obscure and very much focused on Chisana Basho, so were unlikely to have been of interest to those outside this province. Very interesting to me, however. And helpful too. I will show you when you return. I hope Chomei-kun continues to be a good student even while distracted by his family. He seemed very dedicated to his training while he was here, so I imagine you remain well-pleased. I look forward to hearing of your travels on your return.”

The sparrow puffed back into insubstantial air and Jiromasu smiled. He had managed to gently remind Kagami of the chance of her messages to him being overheard while they had passed through Hashi no Mura and her messages since then had been a little more stilted, a little less the free-flowing thoughts of their private conversations. He glanced over at where Osen and Kazu were staring at him with surprise. Fair enough. Most samurai did not have affectionate cousins who were shugenja and who were intent on allaying the slight unease he felt when he did not know how she fared. For them, the messenger spell, if observed at all, would likely be only seen during deployments where troop movements or changes in plans made speedy communication between battle groups necessary.

“My cousin,” he said, in explanation.

“The Ishiken,” Osen said, understanding dawning.

Jiromasu nodded. He had missed her presence today. If she had been there, Aromoro would have been in this clearing now, his leg fully healed. He hoped that Meisuki would call for a shugenja to come see to her husband’s leg. That kind of trauma would take many months to heal, and often would not heal cleanly. Despite the healer’s confidence and clear mastery of her profession and the strength given to samurai through their connection to the Void, a full, quick recovery would still be best served by a shugenja’s connection to the kami.

But that was a concern for after they had found and recovered Chomei. “Osen-san, Kazu-san, I know little of this area nor the people within it, and that may soon become relevant. Tell me of the people and their histories.”

Jiromasu closed his eyes as Osen obligingly began to name the villages in the area, their alliances and their feuds and those who held responsibility for the surrounding countryside, trying to populate a map of the area within his mind. By the time the man had finished, and Kazu had added his perspective, it was time to assign watches. Jiromasu built up the fire, wrapped himself in his cloak, and settled himself for sleep, ignoring the gnawing hunger that was reminding him that his last meal had been at midday.

The morning dawned crisp and clear, every leaf and twig covered in the shimmering silver sheen of dew drops. The three men shook the chill out of their limbs, drank from their water flasks, then quickly saddled the horses and set off. There was no point in waiting.

It was only an hour or two more of following the trail before Kazu straightened. “They’re heading for Banpei Keep,” the heimin said. “There isn’t anywhere else they could be going at this point.”

Jiromasu closed his eyes for a moment as he sorted through the memories of what he had been told the night before. Banpei Keep. Recently awarded to Ikoma Masatari, an unfamiliar name to the others, as he had only just moved to the province from elsewhere in Lion lands. An unknown. He cursed silently to himself. Well, he would just have to improvise.

“Let’s get you up on horseback, then, Kazu-san,” he said. “We will pay an early morning visit to Masatari-sama.”

They were soon in view of the keep, a multi-storied, solidly built structure on the side of a ravine. It must have an excellent view of the surrounding countryside and they cantered down the road that led to it without having to worry about their horses. The road had clearly been abandoned for a while, grass growing long around it, but recent travel had trampled it down and the dirt below it was hard packed.

The gate to the keep was tightly shut and, as they pulled to a stop in front of it, Jiromasu could faintly hear a bell chiming within the keep’s walls. Before he could even dismount, a door on the second floor opened and a samurai stepped out onto a sturdy balcony.

“Crane-san,” the man said, his tone one of surprise. “I would not have expected to find one of your clan at my door.”

“Ikoma Masatari-sama,” Jiromasu said, bowing his head politely. “I have come to collect Akodo Chomei-kun.”

“A Crane looking to collect a Lion child? I think not,” Masatari said, his expression one of complete disdain.

Ah. It was going to be like that. Not particularly surprising, and one of the reasons that Jiromasu had been startled that Aromoro’s request to bring his child back had been given to Jiromasu and not to Katai Osen. The Katai were an Akodo vassal family and most definitely Lion, though Jiromasu’s name would be more easily known, his fame starting to spread beyond the borders of Chisana Basho, and, as a member of one of the major Clan families, he had greater standing.

“It is true that I am Crane. And that Chomei-kun is Lion,” Jiromasu acknowledged. “But he is a foster child of the Crane, a surety in an exchange that helped bind one of our borders in peace. And I come here in the name of all those who claim guardianship of this child. I speak for his foster family, for the Suroka Kakita school, and for his father, Akodo Aromoro-sama, as evidenced by this token and by his liege-men attending me. And I ask that you return him now.”

“Yes, I heard about that. Aromoro-san’s pride, given to the Crane for his return. A Lion child to be raised by Crane standards and in Crane lands. An insult to the Duty of the Lion. And you think I should return the boy, to be taken and turned into a parody of an Akodo?”

Jiromasu felt an icy chill of anger race through him and he breathed deeply in and out, letting the emotion from the insult flow through him and then away, leaving only calm in its wake. He did not have the men to force the issue or to take the keep. Diplomacy and not strength of arms was how this would have to play out. Words to bring him to the results he needed. He settled into the glacial calm as he considered his options. Still, the insult to the Kakita needed to be addressed.

“Each of the clans have their strengths. And each has their flaws,” he said, keeping his voice even, if cold. “I have heard from the Lion that the Crane clan’s flaw is that of arrogance. Yet what must we call it when a Clan refuses to acknowledge the strengths of the other clans, to refuse to admit that they might, indeed, have something to learn from them? Is that not also the height of arrogance? The Kakita school is one with a rich and valued history, renowned for its excellent education. The sons of Emperors attend it. Why should not a Lion child find value in its teachings?”

“The Emperor commands, but it is the Lion who are his army. The Lion who win his wars. We have done so for many, many years. We do not need our generals adulterated by Crane ways of thinking.”

“That child has the potential to become great,” Jiromasu said. “He is a determined and focused student with a great deal of talent. And he is holding on to his heritage, even as he takes on the challenge of learning something completely new. Given the chance, I see him transcending both his Lion and his Kakita training and showing Rokugan what can happen when two great clans have a hand in the raising of a child.” He could see from the man’s expression that this argument would not move him and continued. “And is it not to a Clan’s advantage to understand the mind of one’s opponent?”

“Oh yes, an in depth knowledge that is presented in such a way that it will have them questioning the wisdom of the Lion, questioning the tactics that have served us well for centuries.” The contempt was dripping from the Ikoma’s words and Jiromasu settled deeper into his icy calm. Those words held such emotion that it was clear Jiromasu had struck near home.

No traction there, either, it would seem. An appeal to Lion honour, perhaps. “Regardless of our personal beliefs regarding the child’s education,” he said, “a deal was made. Akodo Aromoro-sama was released back to the Lion in exchange for certain considerations, one of which was that his son would be fostered by the Crane. When it was requested that the boy be allowed to visit for his sister’s wedding, permission was granted. To have such a concession end with the boy being kept in Lion lands and not returned to Crane guardianship would be a grievous blow to Akodo, to Lion honour.”

“And Akodo Aromoro-sama should be considering his honour,” the Ikoma agreed. “This situation would not even have been an issue if he prioritised Bushido in his life. If he followed his duty and not sentiment.” The Ikoma’s words were bitter and Jiromasu noted that both Osen and Kazu stiffened at this insult to their liege.

“Such as during the battle with the Crane in Haishu province?” Jiromasu hazarded. Masatari had not been a name mentioned in the report on the battle that had led to Akodo Aromoro’s capture, but there was clearly some personal antipathy towards him and that was the most recent event of note that had occurred to the man. Saito had given the report to Jiromasu at the end of the meal they had shared in Kiri no Machi and, from it, it was clear that Aromoro had not fulfilled his intended task. When faced with the greater Crane force, he had made the decision to surrender, conditional on his command being returned to Lion lands under peace bond. Marginalia on the report indicated that Aromoro had been told to expect a far lesser force of Crane along that flank, and posited that it may have been a deliberate act of misinformation in order to have him agree to the action. A Matsu might still have tried to succeed in the attack; the Akodo had accurately assessed that he would be wiped out to a man and had chosen to preserve the lives of his men. Jiromasu could respect that; it would have unnecessarily weakened the Lion to have that many of their soldiers, conscripted heimin who were farmers and artisans when it was not the season of war, killed for no actual advantage. However, if someone had, indeed, set him up to fail, and to die in the attempt, that failure to embark on a suicidal attack would have been a disappointment.

A look of startled concern crossed the man’s face, visible even at this distance, and Jiromasu heard a sharp inhale of breath beside him from Katai Osen. It would appear that the Crane theory that Aromoro might have been sent out to fail and fall was, perhaps, not as unlikely as it had first seemed. He wondered who had assigned Masatari to this province and what had been involved in providing him this keep, so close to Aromoro’s.

In the meantime, a clear hatred of the Crane, a wish to undermine the relationship slowly growing between the provinces, and a desire to embarrass Aromoro, appeared to be driving factors in this scenario. Appealing to the man’s better nature seemed unlikely to succeed. Time to try a different tack. One that Jiromasu expected to find particularly satisfying.

“The Lion are renowned for their strength as warriors and their pride in their adherence to Bushido, especially the tenets of Courage, Duty, and Honour. Perhaps, then, this is an appropriate time to put our two clans to the test. You clearly believe that the Lion are the superior clan, that their martial might and strength entitle them to be considered the best of the great clans. I refute that claim, for the Crane hold pride of place in diplomacy, in alliances, and boast the greatest swordsmen. If you would hold to Lion supremacy in terms of courage, duty, and honour then I challenge you, or your champion if you do not believe yourself sufficient to the task, to a duel. I claim right of guardianship to the child.”

Jiromasu watched the man’s hands grip tightly on the balcony’s railing. “I had expected to be facing Aromoro-san at this point,” the man said. He shook his head. “Crane arrogance. You should be careful who you challenge, young Crane. Especially when you meddle in the affairs of the other clans. I accept. My champion will face you.” He turned to say something to someone inside the building and then turned back. “I suppose we must say to first blood, since we are not currently able to request a proper duel, one with the ultimate consequence to failure.”

Jiromasu nodded. “To first blood,” he said, slipping down off his horse. He glanced up at the walls of the keep, seeing flashes of movement in the dimness behind several of the narrow window slits. Curious inhabitants or something more sinister? He was fulfilling the obligation to treat the Lion in this keep with outward respect, but Jiromasu did not truly believe that they warranted it. The bandit camp had shown no signs of expecting their visitors to attack. That meant their visitors had been expected and most likely welcomed. That raised the possibility that Chomei’s kidnapping had been very much the intended outcome of the bandit’s attack, but that fact was certainly one Masatari would not want shared. And if Jiromasu and those with him were to simply disappear, or were later found dead some distance away from here, what proofs could be brought to bear?  “Kazu-san, take the horses and move back towards the tree-line,” he said.

The heimin glanced at him, then up at the keep. He nodded and collected the reins, then turned and casually walked away with their mounts, over to where a small clump of trees and bushes would screen them from arrows fired from those narrow windows.

The door to the keep creaked open and a man in Ikoma armour stepped through them. Jiromasu glanced over the man’s mon, but nothing in his clothing or mon gave Jiromasu any clear indication of who he might be. Masatari had been confident of his champion’s prowess and Jiromasu was hopeful for a true test of his skills. He knew he was good, but there were others in the Empire that were as good or better. As driven to find perfection as he was. As skilled with a blade.

The Ikoma was tall and lean. His dark hair was pulled up in the front and hanging loose at the back, much as Jiromasu’s was, though his was shining black to Jiromasu’s stark white. Hard, dark eyes examined Jiromasu in turn, deep-set in a heavily lined face, though the ease with which he moved and the lack of any hint of grey in his hair belied the age his face showed.

Jiromasu bowed to the man. “Kakita Jiromasu,” he introduced himself. The side of his mouth kicked up a little as the man’s eyes widened fractionally before narrowing, the borderline contempt of the man’s expression transmuting to calculation. “I see you have heard of me.”

“Doji Uki-sama’s new pet duellist,” the man said. “I am Ikoma Shihei.”

Jiromasu froze his face into a calm mask as he considered the insult in the man’s words. Finally, he spoke, his voice glacial. “In almost any other circumstance, a comparison to Kakita Saito-sama and a reference to Doji Uki-sama’s favour would be flattering. If I were not already about to uphold Crane honour with my blade, such disrespect of my provincial daimyo and my sensei would be enough for me to challenge you. It says a great deal about how your master views the Lion and his incorrect assumption of their ascendancy that you cannot see the strength in a courtier and that you cannot see the strength of the blade that would gladly serve such perfection. And this is why the Crane can take with a smile and a conversation what the Lion struggle to hold with strength of arms. Because you devalue the battlefield merely because you cannot or do not have any skill in it and do not deign to learn it.”

Shihei’s expression twitched and his face reddened with anger and Jiromasu let the knowledge that his words had struck soothe his own anger. The man’s name was not wholly unknown to Jiromasu. He had the reputation of a brutal swordsman, raw speed and strength underlying the majority of his duelling wins. And the number of duels he had won was not insubstantial. A proper challenge, then. Lion brashness against Kakita precision.

“I look forward to the opportunity to remind you of your place,” Shihei ground out.

Jiromasu merely smiled and bowed his head slightly, already settling into the familiar mental patterns of the duel. The initial attacks in any duel were with the spirit and using words to try and gain advantage in the process was for those who did not embrace and embody the true transcendent nature of the contest, the complete unity of body and soul and will.

The world around him seemed to brighten as they went through the beginning rituals and he felt the start of its gradual slow-down towards that timeless moment of perfection. Unlike in the duel with Matsu Suni, the Ikoma did not waste energy on restless movements and his breathing, as with Jiromasu’s, had slowed. The man’s eyes were half-lidded as he watched his Kakita opponent. Time stretched out as the two of them strove for that moment of perfection that was creeping closer and closer.

The Ikoma’s blade jumped from its scabbard a breath of a second before Jiromasu reached that complete harmony, a discordant edge to the movement that told him that the Lion had either lost his nerve or feared the Kakita’s full strength. The Moonlit Blade jumped up to parry the blow, robbing his opponent of any chance of drawing first blood, and then they were locked in battle, circling each other in smooth, easy movements as they tested each other’s defenses.

They were remarkably evenly matched, Jiromasu decided as the fight continued, thrust and parry and lunge, and he felt the thrill of adrenaline and exaltation that came with such a test of his skills. As each became more confident that they had the other’s measure, the speed and ferocity of their blows increased and soon they were both breathing hard, sweat streaking their faces, and Jiromasu was once again thankful for his habit of training to extremity as his muscles began to register their fatigue and he ruthlessly over-rode any chance of his blows faltering, maintaining the famed Kakita precision.

Shihei was tiring as well, the force of his blows lessening, and Jiromasu pushed his advantage. Finally, Shihei was unable to move his sword swiftly enough to block Jiromasu’s strike and the Moonlit Blade drew blood from the Ikoma’s left shoulder. As Jiromasu stepped back to disengage, Shihei stepped forward, his sword still swinging and Jiromasu had to scramble backwards, lifting his blade once more in his own defense.

“First blood!” Osen cried out. “Ikoma Shihei-sama, yield!”

The Ikoma did not respond, his attacks continuing, and Ikoma Masatari, up on his balcony, made no comment either. Jiromasu grit his teeth as he bore up under the Ikoma’s attacks, mind desperately churning as he tried to discern how to move forward. It seemed clear to him that his death, and then the deaths of Osen and Kazu, were now the intended outcomes here. Perhaps if he had failed, if it had been him who had been blooded, this would not have been the path they chose. Having won - though not ended - the duel, however…

“Osen-san,” he managed to hiss out, quietly enough not to be heard by Masatari up on his balcony, “get back to Kazu-san and prepare to ride out to inform your master.”

He could not spare any more attention than that, and he focused once more on Shihei. He could not afford to kill the man, not as a Kakita in a Lion province, not as an ambassador of Doji Uki. The story of what was happening here would be too easily twisted to embarrass her and sow further discord between them. That left very few options open to him, however. Well, at least they were not options he was likely to feel any regret over. These men had little to no honour.

He settled back and let Shihei press against his defenses, thankful beyond words for the days spent training with Tetsunotaka. The giant Daidoji had been generous with his time and his wisdom and Jiromasu knew that his ability to efficiently defend against another had benefited from that tutelage to the point where his skill was now considerably greater than one might expect from a Kakita. Let the Ikoma tire himself out against the Iron Keep defense and the Dragonfly Blade deflections.

And the Ikoma was tiring. Jiromasu could see it in the slight slowing of the man’s blows and the tiny hesitations as he sought for weaknesses. And he could see that the Ikoma was aware of it as well, the man’s eyes taking on an almost frantic expression as he felt victory slipping further and further away from him. Soon, he would either submit, or commit himself to more reckless, rash attempts to pull victory from defeat.

In the end, the Ikoma chose rashness and recklessness. He redoubled his efforts, slamming into Jiromasu’s defenses and overextending himself in doing so. Jiromasu swayed to the side and, as the Ikoma stumbled past him, Jiromasu slashed at the back of the man’s leg.

With a despairing cry, Shihei crumpled to the ground, his right leg no longer able to support him, the tendons all severed; the Moonlit Blade was sharp and had been wielded with considerable force. Jiromasu stepped backwards, though he did not sheath his sword. He looked up at where Masatari glared down at him.

“It is unfortunate that your champion was overcome with battle-lust and failed to recognise first blood,” Jiromasu said, trying desperately to get the words out smoothly even as his chest was heaving as he fought for breath. Sweat was streaming down his face and he wiped it away from his eyes with the back of one gauntleted wrist. “But I have prevailed. Return Akodo Chomei-kun to my care.”

“As it is Aromoro-san who lost him, it is into Aromoro-san’s care that I will return him.” Masatari’s expression turned sour. “I acknowledge your claim of guardianship, but it is not my place to turn another’s child over to a member of a clan so often our enemy.”

Jiromasu stared up at the man, shocked and briefly stymied. Then a clear young voice echoed through the morning air and he smiled.

***

By the time Chomei had managed to descend the wall, the half-heard conversation had led to a challenge and Chomei peeked around the side of the building to see Jiromasu-sama squaring off against the Ikoma who had ridden down the fleeing bandit. He listened to the man insult Jiromasu, stunned that anyone would think to call Jiromasu-sama something as demeaning as a pet, and he flushed in second-hand embarrassment and anger that those words had come from a Lion. Neither embarrassment nor anger was made better by listening to Jiromasu-sama’s clipped and devastatingly thorough reply. Then the two bushi were facing each other for the duel and Chomei held his breath as the tension in the air grew and grew and grew as they stared each other down.

Chomei jumped when their swords finally flashed forth, meeting with the bright clash of steel on steel, and then they were circling each other, each maintaining their guard while they sought for an opening. They were well-matched, it seemed, the bout continuing with a speed and ferocity that made it difficult to follow. Then Jiromasu-sama’s blade drew blood. The momentary relief at that fact was quickly subsumed by dismay as Shihei continued his attacks and Chomei saw the brief flash of consternation on Jiromasu-sama’s face before it settled back into a grimly focused expression.

“First blood!” Osen-san cried out, his tone scandalised. “Ikoma Shihei-sama, yield!”

Chomei glanced up at the balcony, where Masatari was watching the duel, his eyes flashing with anger. Clearly he was not going to call his champion to order and Chomei felt a cold sickness to his stomach. This was all very, very wrong.

Jiromasu-sama said sometime and Chomei watched Osen-san’s expression shutter, then the man began to slowly withdraw, moving towards where Kazu-san had taken the horses. Chomei felt a flare of dismay. Osen-san was going to abandon Jiromasu-sama!

Jiromasu-sama had shifted to defense and Chomei watched with bated breath as his blade flashed back and forth as the Ikoma sought to overwhelm him. The fight had been going on a considerable time now and Chomei was certain both bushi must be tired. Indeed, he could see sweat dripping from both of them. With a sudden burst of energy, Shihei hammered down on Jiromasu-sama and Chomei almost cried out as Jiromasu-sama’s blade did not come up to block the blow. Instead, the Kakita swayed like a reed, the Ikoma staggering forward when the expected resistance evaporated. As he stumbled past, Jiromasu-sama’s blade flashed through the air, slicing across the back of Shihei’s leg. The man dropped like the counterweight of an emptied irrigation bucket and Chomei could suddenly breath again as Jiromasu-sama stepped carefully out of range of the groaning man.

“It is unfortunate that your champion was overcome with battle-lust and failed to recognise first blood,” Jiromasu-sama said. He wiped the back of one wrist across his forehead to clear away the sweat gathered there. “But I have prevailed. Return Akodo Chomei-kun to my care.”

Up on the balcony, Masatari looked angry. There was a moment’s pause, then the man shook his head. “As it is Aromoro-san who lost him, it is into Aromoro-san’s care that I will return him.” Masatari’s expression was that of someone biting into an unripe apple. “I acknowledge your claim of guardianship” he said, his tone grudging, “but it is not my place to turn another’s child over to a member of a clan so often our enemy.”

Jiromasu-sama’s expression was briefly one of anger and shock, and Chomei could not fault him. The duel had been for guardianship of… well, of him. And to have a Lion ignore the results of a legitimate duel… Well, at least Jiromasu-sama had an unexpected advantage there, Chomei thought wryly. He thought about how carefully Jiromasu-sama had been phrasing everything and his mind scrambled to come up with the right words for this.

“Thank you for your care, Masatari-sama,” he said, stepping out from the shadow of the keep and walking over to where Jiromasu-sama stood. “However, I know my honoured father has complete confidence in Jiromasu-sama’s competence as my guardian. It is time I returned home, so as not to disrupt my sister’s wedding.”

A broad, delighted grin flashed across Jiromasu-sama’s face before it was quickly scaled back to his usual inscrutable smirk and Chomei felt a bubble of warm satisfaction well up inside himself at having been the cause of such pleasure in his sensei.

Osen-san was walking over towards them, his hands hooked into the bridles of two horses. He handed one off to Jiromasu-sama and the Kakita gave Masatari a shallow bow before he turned and started walking back towards the little copse of trees where Kazu-san was standing with a third horse.

“Walk immediately beside me, Chomei-kun,” Jiromasu-sama said softly but urgently. “Keep the body of the horse between yourself and the keep.”

Swallowing at the tension in the man’s voice, Chomei hurried to comply. Soon they were at the screening bushes and Jiromasu let out a breath.

“We mount and then we ride hard,” he said. “Chomei-kun, you will ride with Kazu-san. Kazu-san, if we encounter resistance to us leaving, you stop for no one and nothing until you reach the village.”

The heimin gave a sharp nod and helped Chomei scrambled up onto the horse. Chomei fisted his hands into the creature’s mane as much for reassurance as to help him with his balance. His heart was thumping strangely and the tension in the three men made him want to scream and lash out at… at something. Masatari-sama, most likely, the dishonourable bakayarou.

At Jiromasu-sama’s signal, all three of them burst from cover at the same time, riding hard to gain distance on the keep and any potential archers. Chomei closed his eyes, held his breath, and muttered prayers to every kami and ancestor he could think of who might care about upholding samurai honour. When Jiromasu-sama finally called for them to slow, he felt all the tension drain out of him at once. His hands were sweaty where they were knotted in the horse’s mane and all his muscles felt weak and shaky and when Kazu-san reached out to steady him, he realised he was swaying on his perch on the horse’s back.

“You did good, Chomei-sama,” the usually taciturn heimin murmured as Chomei straightened and tightened his grip with his knees.

“You did,” Jiromasu-sama said, his sharp ears having overheard the man’s quiet statement. “I am very much looking forward to hearing how you managed to find your way out of the Ikoma’s keep, because I am sure he did not make it easy.”

“He paid to have me kidnapped,” Chomei said, still almost unable to believe this fact.

Jiromasu-sama sighed. “Something I will have to leave to your father and mother to decide how to deal with. There is much regarding this situation that I am not privy to.”

“Why is my father not here?” Chomei asked, much relieved by Jiromasu-sama’s reference to him.

“The bandits left behind archers in ambush,” Osen-san said, his tone bitter. “One of their arrows killed your father’s horse. When it fell, it crushed his leg and he was not able to continue on to find you. He has been treated and taken back to the village. He will be very relieved to see you safe.”

“We ride hard and fast back to the village now,” Jiromasu-sama said. “I will not feel comfortable until we have Chomei-kun back with his mother and father. I think all other explanations can wait until then.”

Chapter Text

Jiromasu sighed contentedly as the wedding ceremony wound to a close. There was always such a satisfying form to the event… the bringing together of two families, then the formal leave-taking from one family and the welcome into the other. It stirred his heart and his soul like a well-written play or a perfectly structured poem. There was something about it all that spoke to an essential part of a samurai’s life and existence. 

What would it be like to be the one actively part of the ceremony? He had watched Kagami host several of these ceremonies, bringing the kami into harmony with the samurai being married. Had seen the expressions on the participants’ faces… imperfect stoicism hiding their excitement, their nervousness, their fear, and their joy. What would it be like to be in the centre of the dance? To be the one to bid goodbye or to welcome a spouse? He smiled as Ikoma Nikako turned to face the crowd of well-wishers gathered to witness her wedding. Both she and her new husband looked pleased, as did their respective families. He turned to look at the gathered guests, mouth quirking as several members of the audience glanced quickly away to avoid catching his eye and having to acknowledge that they had been covertly observing him, the lone Crane, as out of place in this gathering as a peacock among chickens. 

One person did not move to avoid his gaze. Rather, it felt much like there should have been the ringing sound of steel upon steel as he locked eyes with Ikoma Masatari. Jiromasu’s smile widened a little, a hint of teeth as he bowed with utmost Crane precision and without lowering his eyes. It had been largely inevitable that the man would be present at the wedding - he was too high ranked to be ignored, and politically problematic to accuse of what they knew he had done. The bald facts of what had occurred were too easily read as him saving and safe-guarding Chomei-kun. But his presence was a discordant element to the evening, distorting the family’s sense of joyful celebration whenever he was near. When Masatari finally broke eye-contact, Jiromasu could not help casting his gaze around the room to check where the boy was. There. Standing with Daizu-kun and his Katai father. And, he noted, with his aunt standing a short distance away and paying just a little too much attention to where her nephew was. Akodo Aromoro was taking no chances.

They moved into the pavilion that had been set up in the village square to host the wedding banquet. He smiled as he was shown to his place, wondering how much thought had been put into where to seat him. Of course, after the confrontation with Masatari, seating at the banquet was even more fraught, but once it had become clear that excluding the Ikoma was not an option, Jiromasu had caught up with Meisuki in the gardens one morning and delicately offered to help keep an eye on him during the evening’s festivities. So he was not surprised when Masatari was soon afterwards guided towards a seat at the same table Jiromasu was sitting at.

“A lovely ceremony, was it not, Masatari-san?” Jiromasu said cheerfully as the other guests took their seats. He swirled the wine in his glass and took a sip. “My cousin also performs marriage rites and she has tasked me with reporting back to her on the differences between the Crane and Lion customs. Chomei-kun and I will be stopping to see her on the way back to the Kakita school.”

“Your cousin,” one of the other samurai at the table said. She was an older woman with an Akodo mon and she was observing him with narrowed eyes. Jiromasu turned his attention from Masatari to her, though he kept the man in his peripheral vision. Tonight was going to be an entertaining evening. His goal was to charm as many of the attending Lion as possible while also hopefully scoring points in the ongoing battle with the Ikoma. “The Ishiken?”

“Yes,” he confirmed. “Asahina Kagami, Ishiken of the Isawa school. She is a most dedicated shugenja and, with her unique heritage and upbringing, has been called on to officiate several inter-marriages between Crane and Phoenix in Chisana Basho. As a result, she has developed something of a keen interest in the different marriage customs in the various Clans. I have to admit that I had never thought to consider how different they might be until she was deciding on how to proceed with her first officiation.” 

“I have only been to Lion marriages,” the Akodo said, her eyes turning thoughtful. “I had not considered that they might be different either. How does the Lion version of the marriage rites differ from the Crane one?”

It was an easy conversation to start the evening with and Jiromasu quickly leveraged the discussion of comparative theology into a broader conversation around Crane and Lion customs. It also allowed him to bring up the Kakita school again, speaking of some of his experiences as a child and also using the opportunity to praise Chomei, both for the skills he had acquired before arriving at the school as well as his determination to hold on to his heritage and the speed with which he was learning the Kakita basics. He smiled to himself as the evening’s conversation progressed and all the Lion at the table but one responded to his comments and flatteries and his curiosity regarding, and praise of, Lion culture with perceptible positive shifts in their attitude and demeanour when addressing him. Ikoma Masatari’s expression, however, had become more and more sour, especially after one of the attempts he made to disparage the Kakita training as substandard and inadequate led to him being masterfully put down by the older Akodo woman who, it turned out, had been an instructor at the Akodo school when Aromoro had gone to it. Jiromasu had allowed himself a smirk after that exchange and Masatari had caught it.

The food was good, the sake and wine plentiful, and by the end of the evening Jiromasu was feeling remarkably mellow. The shugenja who had arrived to perform the wedding rites - a relative of Aromoro’s - had also helped speed his healing and the man was up and walking around greeting guests, though he was still leaning heavily on a cane. Both he and Meisuki were looking pleased and Jiromasu decided that this meant that the evening was progressing without any major issues.

Late in the evening, after the younger children had been taken away to bed by Osaku, who had likewise almost fully recovered from the injuries she had suffered while protecting them from the bandits, a pair of young Lion, probably about his age and considerably worse the wear from the sake, came over to where Jiromasu was standing.

“So you are the famed Jiromasu-sama,” one of them said, his gaze hostile. “We’re supposed to believe that you are the hero of Chisana Basho, that you fended off the Shadowlands and ended the war between our provinces? You’re younger than we are!”

Jiromasu regarded him carefully. He hadn’t spoken to these two this evening, but he had noticed that Ikoma Masatari had and he would put money on this belligerence coming from their conversations with him.

“I had a part to play in that,” he said calmly. “And it was a substantial part, but it was by no means by my efforts alone. My companions were vital, of course, and the ending of the war was as much General Hashiga-sama and Doji Uki-sama’s wisdom as it was due to the actions of my friends and I. I do not believe in false modesty, so I will say that yes, I did raise the alarm regarding the invasion and fend off the Shadowlands. And it was my blade that brought down the Shadowlands general. And I was part of bringing about peace between our provinces. But it was not a series of events to be placed to the credit of any one person.”

“And you fought the Bride of the Woods too, I heard,” the other said, rolling his eyes.

Jiromasu took a sip of his wine. “Do you base your disbelief on simply having been told that that is the tale, or have you actually heard the story?” Jiromasu asked. “I aver to you that the tale is true, though I can forgive a certain amount of skepticism. It was a most unusual situation.”

“Of which you find yourself with an abundance,” the first man said. 

Jiromasu considered this and smiled. “I cannot argue with you there,” he said. “I do seem to find myself dealing with a great many unusual circumstances as I fulfil my duty to my province. One of my Kakita friends likes to blame it on my cousin, believing that as Ishiken she attracts trouble. But her mentor does not seem to have the same tendency towards absurd situations, so I doubt it is truly her fault. Myself, I’m inclined to place the blame on our Kuni friend.”

“Or on it all being fabricated.” 

Jiromasu’s eyes narrowed. There was drunken disbelief and then there was the combative refutation of a fellow samurai’s word. But it was Nikako-san’s wedding. And he was a guest in Akodo Aromoro’s house. He glanced at the man’s mon and let a little frost bleed into his tone.

“Ikoma-san, this is a pleasant evening in celebration of an important life-event. I would not mar the celebration with an escalating disagreement. So I will give you a moment to reflect on your words and perhaps we can continue on with our conversation. I am a guest in this house and in these lands. I am seeking only to spend time enjoying the company of those with whom we are so frequently at odds.”

“Yet you insult us by expecting us to swallow such garbage about your deeds,” the Ikoma snorted. His friend winced a little at the expression on Jiromasu’s face.”

“What is your name, Ikoma-san?” Jiromasu asked, letting the ice rise up and quench the bright hot flare of anger at the man’s words.

“Ikoma Dajan,” he replied. “Why?”

“Ikoma Dajan-san, I will not fight you now. You are drunk and I would not dishonour Ikoma Nikako-san and her new husband by distracting their guests from the celebrations. But I will expect to see you tomorrow, to either apologise or to try my blade. Return to the party. Give honour to the bride and groom and eat more of the excellent food they are serving.” And Jiromasu pulled his fan out and snapped it open, fanning himself as he turned away from the pair of Lion in pointed dismissal, though he was not so foolish as to completely turn his back on them. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dajan’s friend tug him away. 

“Hmph. I suppose Crane manners have their uses,” a female voice said from off to one side. “That was well handled, young man.” The old woman from dinner, Akodo Maru, stepped forward from a shadowed corner of the tent. Jiromasu had not noticed her there and he took a moment to assess his surroundings and ensure that there were not any other unexpected eves-droppers in the area. That had been an unacceptable lack of awareness on his part. For all that he was an invited and honoured guest, he was in hostile territory.

“You honour me, Akodo Maru-sama,” he said easily. The thrum of adrenaline from the confrontation was still humming through his veins and he gave himself a mental shake, willing himself to purge the sense of jittery energy that had accompanied the thawing of the ice. “The Crane do hold to the importance of politeness in all our dealings.”

“Mmm. But not all of them are as cold-blooded as you about it,” she said. “I’d imagine you are infuriating to those who try and bait you.”

Jiromasu glanced over to see the old woman grinning broadly. He let his return smile contain a slight edge. “I will not say I cannot be goaded. I have a temper, the same as any other man, and a sense of honour that will not allow such insults and slights to my name and my word. But my anger is cold, not hot, and that allows me to be judicious with my words and my strategy. A Kakita’s blade is always sharp and always ready, but a Crane’s tongue can be just as sharp and just as effective.”

“A very Crane way of considering the world,” she said. “I had heard you held Doji Uki-sama’s favour, but had thought it was more to do with your proximity to your cousin. I see I will need to re-adjust my understanding. I remain annoyed that the Akodo school has lost Chomei-kun as a student, but perhaps it will not be the worst thing in the world for him to learn to fight with Crane weapons.” And she turned and walked away. Jiromasu watched her go and exhaled slowly. That was a battle he had just won that he had not even been aware he was fighting.

***

Chomei, Kaoru, and Daizu had been allowed to stay up when the little ones had been taken away to bed, on the strict instructions that they were to stay together and to keep Daizu’s father or Chomei and Kaoru’s aunt in sight at all times. None of them were inclined to push back against such restrictions, the memory of the attack down at the river and the awareness of Ikoma Masatari-sama’s presence more than enough to ensure their obedience. So they had moved around the wedding reception together, whispering and giggling and making up stories about the samurai in attendance and keeping out of Masatari-sama’s way.

Chomei had also been keeping an eye on Jiromasu-sama. He had seen enough of the man interacting with Lion now to know that the Kakita was level-headed and well able to handle himself in dangerous situations and also enough to know that he would consider a social gathering such as this as important a battlefield as the duelling grounds. He had obviously handled himself well at dinner, even though he had been seated with Masatari-sama, their table full of lively conversation and laughter. And later on, when the meal was over and people were wandering around the room, it was easy enough to keep one eye on him, his Kakita blue kimono, considerably fancier than the ones he used for daily wear, standing out amid the yellows and browns of the other guests. It seemed silly to worry about a fully adult samurai who had shown himself to be quite capable of handling himself, but he was only here because of Chomei. If something happened to him, it would be Chomei’s fault and he had already caused the man enough trouble.

Daizu was less worried about Jiromasu-sama and more concerned with Masatari-sama’s presence. The fact that he had had to be invited, and that he had come, seemed almost incomprehensible to Chomei. His mother and Jiromasu-sama had tried to explain it to him when he had questioned it. His mother had eventually sighed and told him he would understand more fully when he was older. Jiromasu-sama had sat with him for quite some time, talking through the various reasons one would invite a confirmed enemy to a social event, and why they would accept. Chomei had come away from that conversation still feeling that the situation was ridiculous and overwhelmed by the sheer complexity involved in how a Crane assessed something as simple as a wedding celebration.

Jiromasu-sama had laughed when Chomei had mentioned this. “There is nothing simple about a wedding, Chomei-kun,” he said. “It builds alliances and strengthens ties and it is also a major social event that requires months of planning. And so, it is important that we do all we can to make sure that it goes smoothly. It is your sister’s transition from one family to another and that is exciting, but it also means leaving behind many things that are familiar and comforting.”

“Like when I had to go live with the Crane,” Chomei had suddenly realised. No wonder his sister had been snappish and distracted, despite also clearly being glad he was home. 

Jiromasu-sama had nodded approvingly. “Very much so, though this marriage is one that your sister is looking forward to, rather than a duty imposed on her. And the Ikoma are not nearly as strange to her, and her new home is not nearly as far away, as your Kakita hosts are.

So Chomei was doing his best to make sure that his sister’s wedding went as smoothly as possible. Which meant that he had made sure to let the heimin servants know when his great-aunt had spilled her glass of wine all over the floor so it could be quickly cleaned up. And he had listened to his father and was making sure to stay in sight of Osen-san or his aunt and away from the threatening, sour-faced presence of Masatari-sama. And it meant he was keeping an eye on both Jiromasu-sama and Masatari-sama. This meant that Chomei had noticed when the two sloppily drunk young Lion, after having had an increasingly agitated whispered conversation between themselves, had turned and headed towards Jiromasu-sama.

“Oh no,” he said.

“What?” Kaoru had asked, picking up on his suddenly increased tension.

Reaching out, he grabbed the other two’s sleeves and pulled them over to where they could lurk behind a decorative screen. “I think those two are looking to start trouble,” he said, indicating the two Lion.

“By going to talk to Jiromasu-sama?” Kaoru asked skeptically.

“You weren’t with us for the journey here,” Chomei said distractedly as Jiromasu-sama turned to greet them. “He is Crane and that means he is treated here the same way the students in the Kakita school treat me. But he is full samurai, so the insults are answered with blades, not blows.”

“They’re going to pick a fight at Nikako-san’s wedding?” Kaoru sounded scandalised. 

“They’re going to try,” Chomei said, watching Jiromasu-sama’s expression go from a more open, casual friendliness to his practiced half-smile that gave nothing away. 

“He fought the Bride of the Woods?” Daizu asked as they shamelessly eavesdropped on the conversation.

“If he says so, I believe him,” Chomei said. “I haven’t heard that story though. If this gets any worse, let’s go running over there and interrupt them and ask about… I don’t know… if he’ll take us out riding tomorrow.”

Kaoru glanced over at him and then nodded. “It’s rude, but better rude than a duel at Nikako-san’s wedding.”

Then Chomei’s stomach dropped. There was no coming back from the deliberately insulting words the Lion had just said. He had waited too long. Had trusted in Jiromasu-sama’s ability to dance around the frankly clumsy belligerence of the two Lion. “Kuso,” he swore.

Kaoru was too upset by what was happening to scold him for his language. “He can’t ignore that,” she said, voice tense. “No one could.”

Before Chomei could run over and interrupt the suddenly dangerous confrontation, however, Jiromasu-sama had shut the two Lion down with such finality that Kaoru’s mouth dropped open. She shivered. “Jiromasu-sama is a little scary,” she said.

“He is a lot scary when you’ve also seen him fight,” Chomei said. “But it’s a nice scary to have on your side. And he is on our side right now, even if those two baka don’t realise it. C’mon… let’s see what they do now.”

The three of them headed off after the two men, one red-faced with emotion and the other looking rather pale. They drew to a stop a little ways away from one of the tables that held a variety of sweets and Chomei pulled the others over to it, looking down as if to decide on a treat to disguise their interest in the two Ikoma.

“That arrogant yarichin!” The man that had received Jiromasu-sama’s quelling challenge sounded incredibly frustrated. “Why couldn’t I think of something to say to that? I just… nothing! As if he has actually done all that he claims to have. Ridiculous.”

“Well, you’ll be able to prove it tomorrow,” his friend said, while glancing around with concern to see if anyone was taking note of the clear, if reasonably quiet, display of emotion. Chomei quickly pointed to one of the treats, telling Daizu about how his mother had had to order the spices to make it all the way from Mantis lands. Ikoma Kirino, that was Ikoma Dajan’s companion. They were… cousins? Yes, cousins of Ikoma Sabaru-sama, Nikako’s new husband.

“Ikoma Dajan-san.” 

Chomei redoubled his careful attention to the desserts as Masatari-sama made his way over to the two Lion. 

“Masatari-sama,” Dajan-sama said, acknowledging the older Ikoma with a bow.

“I saw you were conversing with the Crane. You do not appear to have enjoyed the conversation, though. Unsurprising, perhaps. The Crane excel in poisonous words. It is hard for an honest Lion to prevail against their practiced verbal trickery.” Masatari-sama’s voice was low and sympathetic.

“I did not know what to say,” Dajan admitted. “He had an answer for everything and I could not defend against his obvious lies. How can Aromoro-sama allow him to stand there, flaunting his… his…”

“It can be hard,” Masatari-sama agreed. “Yet Aromoro-san had little choice in the matter. The Crane extorted a heavy price to release him, you know. A great deal of wealth changed hands, along with a strict peace bond and his son and heir to be corrupted to Crane ways. And now they bring the child back to dangle him in front of our noses and remind us of the shame of that ransom. A difficult thing for any man to take, though Aromoro-san must suffer that shame for his failure on the battlefield. It is good that his daughter has joined the Ikoma and can distance herself from it.”

Chomei realised his face must have been betraying his anger when Daizu grabbed hold of his shoulder and pulled him around so that he was facing away from the three Ikoma. Kaoru had already put her back to them, her cheeks a bright red and her eyes sparkling with outrage. Daizu shoved a cake into each of their hands, grabbed one himself, and pulled them a little further away.

“That vile man,” Kaoru hissed. “As if Jiromasu-sama did not put himself to great inconvenience to answer Mother’s request that you be here! As if his own actions aren’t a stain on Lion honour!”

Chomei finally managed to speak past the anger clogging his throat. “I am going to go find Mother. She needs to know about this. Kaoru-chan, Daizu, can you interrupt their conversation without making a big scene?”

Kaoru took a deep breath and shook off her feelings. “Yes.” Her statement was flat and angry and then her eyes widened and her smile was suddenly broad. The angry sparkle in her eyes became excitement. “C’mon, Daizu-kun. All you have to do is stay with me and smile.”

As Kaoru grabbed a plate of sweets from off the table and moved over to the trio of Ikoma, a young girl carried away by this large gathering and eager to please and share, Chomei moved off in search of his mother. His sister would be able to hold them for quite some time. She was good at the wide eyes and the innocent smile that charmed adults and he worried sometimes that this tendency towards manipulating the emotions of others would get her in trouble some day, was perhaps not quite honourable. But tonight, it was proving useful.

Mother was standing off to one side with Father, both looking tired but pleased as they observed the tail end of the party, and Chomei almost reconsidered. Father was still injured, still recovering. What he was going to tell them was something that would surely incense them both, and Mother and Jiromasu-sama had both already explained to him why Masatari-sama had had to be invited and, even if he hadn’t been able to fully understand the reasons why, he got that they were important. But no. Father was wise and made sound tactical decisions. And they needed to know about this. It was damaging and dangerous behaviour towards their family.

Chomei moved over to them and, in a very low, hurried voice, tried his best to explain exactly what had just happened. His parents blinked at him for a moment and then had him repeat himself, asking clarifying questions during the second telling. At the end of it, both of their faces were the solid, still masks that Chomei knew meant they were both thinking rapidly.

“Meisuki-san, I…” Father began.

“No.” Mother’s voice was clipped, final, and Chomei blinked. He had never heard his mother talk like that to his father. “No, you will need to deal with the next step. This one is for me to do.”

“As you wish,” Father said and there was a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth.

“Where is he now?” Mother asked.

“Over by the sweets table,” Chomei said. “Kaoru-chan went to interrupt the conversation.”

There was a brief flare of anxiety in his mother’s eyes. “How?”

Chomei bit his lip. “She took a plate of mochi. You know that thing she does where she looks up at you with big eyes?”

His mother closed her eyes briefly and sighed and his father gave a snort of laughter. 

“It likely worked, anata,” he said.

“I’m sure it did,” Mother said. She turned and walked away towards the table of desserts and Chomei - after a brief glance at his father, who was watching her move away with that little smile still playing around the corners of his mouth, even if his eyes were worried - hurried after her.

Mother stopped briefly at the dessert table, ran her eyes over it, then summoned a heimin to order several of the platters refreshed. Then she turned and walked over to where Kaoru was engaged in cheerfully explaining to the three men how excited she was for her sister’s marriage and how much she hoped she would be able to go visit her in her new home and meet “so many more Ikoma than I already know!” All three men held mochi in their hands and the two younger ones had slightly bemused expressions on their faces, though Masatari-sama’s face was decidedly less indulgent. He had still accepted one of the mochi though, Chomei thought, viciously amused at this evidence of his sister’s effectiveness. The two younger men jumped a little guiltily as Meisuki came up to them.

“Thank you, Kaoru-chan,” she said with the firm tone of one gently correcting a child. “Please leave our guests to continue their conversation.”

Kaoru’s eyes widened and she flushed a little. “Yes, Mother.” She turned to the men and gave a contrite little bow. “I apologise for interrupting you,” she said. And if Chomei hadn’t known just how intentional that interruption had been, he would have believed her completely sincere.

“Uh. No, no. Thank you for your generosity in making sure we had the chance to try the rose-water mochi,” Ikoma Kirino-sama said, a little awkwardly. Chomei decided he liked him more than his brother.

Meisuki watched as her daughter walked away, then turned back to the three men. “I do apologise,” she said. “She has been a great help in organising this event and is, perhaps, over-zealous in her hopes that everything goes smoothly and that all here enjoy the festivities. It is, of course, what any host wants for a social event, is it not? That everyone enjoy themselves and that harmony prevails.” She smiled at them all.

“And yet you invited a Crane to attend?” Masatari-sama’s eyebrow rose.

Chomei watched as his mother’s expression did not change at all, her face still calm. “Masatari-sama, you have made your opinion of our guest well known to us through previous actions. Despite this, and in honour of our increased ties with the Ikoma, I will not enumerate those actions here. Nor will I bother to debate with you the reasons for Jiromasu-san’s attendance. He is our honoured guest and has proven to be a friend to our family in his efforts to safe-guard my son. I will not countenance your bile continuing to threaten my family’s honour, happiness and prosperity.” Then her face turned into a snarl of anger that shocked Chomei so much that he actually jumped and she stepped forward into the man’s personal space. “You have insulted my husband, my family, and have endangered my son. You will leave now and you will meet me after my daughter and her new husband have left tomorrow. And we will settle this with blades - you and I, unless you prove to be a complete coward who must hide behind a champion. Now get out, before I decide to forgo any attempts at discretion and call for my blades immediately.”

Masatari-sama had recoiled from her fury and, with that step already taken, turned and hurried away. Meisuki turned to face the other two, both wide-eyed and stunned. “And you two,” she said, making a clear effort to reign in her flaring temper, “you are young, and so I will simply tell you this. There are decisions being made within the Ikoma that do not necessarily look to the good of the Lion as a whole. That seek to raise up some families at the cost of others. That is not how the Lion are meant to be. The Lion’s strength comes from doing one’s duty to the whole, not in chasing power and following personal ambition. Be careful who you are talking to and whose advice you follow, or you may find yourselves crossing swords with honourable men while in service to dishonourable goals.” She drew in a deep breath and released it, the fury in her face and her tone draining away. “Eat your mochi,” she said, gesturing to the sweets held forgotten in their hands. “Enjoy what remains of your cousin’s wedding. I look forward to hearing from my daughter about her new life in Ikoma lands. I trust that you will look out for her and make her welcome.”

“Of course, Meisuki-sama,” Kirino-san said.

“Good.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “I am truly pleased at our closer connection,” she said. “And if ever you wish to visit for further conversation with my husband and myself, we would be happy to host you. I am sure you have been given reason to question certain decisions the Akodo have made. Before you judge those decisions based on what you have been told, I would suggest you listen to what we have to say. The Ikoma are our historians, but history is a story and there is more than one side to those.” With that, she bowed to the two young men and moved away, gathering up Chomei and his companions as she went.

“Kuso,” he heard one of the two men say, just before they moved out of earshot.

“I think that is enough excitement for today,” Mother said. “It is time for you three to find your beds.”

“Yes, Mother,” Kaoru said. 

Mother paused and looked down at the three of them. She looked pale and tense, two brilliant spots of colour on her cheeks startlingly bright against the pallor of her skin. “Thank you, you three,” she said. “You did very well tonight.”

“Mother, what is going on?” Chomei asked, suddenly extremely worried. Everything they had heard and learned this evening was outlining something much larger and scarier than he could have imagined.

Mother looked at him and smiled a little. “Nothing too dire, Chomei-kun,” she said. “Nothing that you need to be concerned about. I am just very tired of having to bite my tongue around those who most certainly don’t deserve the consideration.” She gave a sharp-edged smile and Chomei was quite forcibly reminded that his mother, his patient, even-tempered mother, was a Lion and that lions were hunters. “I have not had a chance to truly lift a blade against another in quite some time. We shall see if Masatari-sama has the stomach for such a contest tomorrow.”

Chomei suddenly realised that his mother had, in fact, called Masatari-sama to a duel the following day. He sucked in a breath at the enormity of that. He could not really remember having seen his mother with a sword. Oh, he knew she practiced with his aunt, but they used the courtyard in the afternoons, not the mornings, and he had rarely watched. Had been too busy practicing with his father and Katai Osen-san. Or playing with Daizu. And he suddenly realised that tomorrow would be the first time he would truly see her fight.

“Mother is going to duel,” he whispered to Kaoru and Daizu as they slipped through the silent hallways towards the children’s wing of the house and the room that he and Daizu shared.

“Yeah.” Kaoru glanced over at him. “We’re going to go watch, right?”

“Even if we have to hide in the bushes to do it,” Chomei agreed. “You’ll get to see Jiromasu-sama fight as well.”

Chapter Text

Jiromasu had watched the confrontation between Meisuki and Masatari with considerable interest. He had been far enough away that he had been unable to hear what was said, but the body language and Masatari’s hurried retreat had been more than enough to tell him how it had gone. 

The two younger Ikoma had looked considerably more sober after Meisuki had left, sweeping the three children up with her from where they had been lurking by the sweets trays as she moved towards the exit of the tent that led to the samurai housing. She had spent some time talking to the two young men after she had lambasted Masatari and he wondered what she had said. Whatever it was, it had left Dajan looking ill and Kirino thoughtful. 

The tent was beginning to empty as the guests made their way to whatever quarters had been provided for them. Ranks of tents, sourced from who knew where, had been set up to house those who lived far enough away to appreciate a place to lay their heads for the night and it was largely the younger, more energetic celebrants who were still active, though they had mostly settled around some of the low tables at the edges of the room, drinking and talking and playing games. The heimin servants were beginning to clean up around them and Aromoro was seated on a stool to one side, his cane leaning beside him, sipping on a glass of something that Jiromasu thought was actually a pain tonic and not the excellent sake that had been being served. He wandered over to the older man.

“How is your leg holding up?” he asked.

“I will be glad to take to my bed for the night,” the Akodo said, reaching down to rub at the afflicted limb. “Though it may be hard to sleep. It is not a sharp pain, but the ache is intense.”

Jiromasu nodded. “I saw that Masatari-sama left in some disarray.”

Aromoro’s face broke into a smile that was unmistakably fond and also anticipatory. “Meisuki-san took issue with his attitude towards some of our guests,” he said. “It is wisest not to wake the dragon, but then, some men are fools.”

“That they are.” He gave his host an apologetic glance. “I am afraid that I am going to have to use my blade tomorrow to respond to an insult from this evening. I regret that it came to that and it certainly does not reflect at all upon the generosity of your welcome or the excellence of this evening’s entertainment.”

Aromoro nodded, “Chomei-kun told us.

Jiromasu hid his wince. How many others had borne witness to that exchange that he had not noticed? He really should have known better. It was not so very long ago that it was Kagami and him who were moving around the edges of social events such as these, seeing and hearing far more than the adults were aware, dismissive as they often were of a child's understanding and their sharp eyes and ears.

“Yours will not be the only blade put to use tomorrow morning, after Nikako-san and Sabaru-san have taken their leave,” Aromoro continued,

“I did not see his champion here,” Jiromasu noted. “The injury I gave him would have required a shugenja’s services to repair and even that would be the work of many weeks, I believe. My cousin informs me that when the tendons holding a muscle in place are severed, it needs more than a simple healing spell to undo the damage.”

“We shall see,” Aromoro said. “My Meisuki-san was quite clear with him that she thought that a Lion bushi making use of a champion was indicative of a lack of valour.” He sniffed. “As it is. If you do not trust to your own blade and the favour of the ancestors, then perhaps you should not be walking the path you are.”

“He seemed happy enough to send a champion to face me,” Jiromasu said, idly running his closed fan back and forth between his fingers. “But then, I get the impression that Masatari-sama does not consider those who are not Lion - or at least does not consider those non-Lion who are Crane - to be worthy of the same considerations as he might give to those of his own clan. Perhaps Meisuki-san’s words will strike him with greater effect.”

The last lingering revellers were packing up their things, prompted towards their beds by the industrious heimin pointedly removing the empty dishes around them and their host’s clearly weary face. Jiromasu sat with the man until the last of them had bowed their good nights and then helped Aromoro to stand. The Lion groaned as he placed weight on his leg and Jiromasu winced in sympathy. Together, the two men turned towards the house, Aromoro limping and leaning heavily on his cane.

The following morning dawned fine and Jiromasu said his goodbyes to Nikako at the formal breakfast, withdrawing to allow the family time to say more private goodbyes. Nikako had pressed his hand, thanking him for his care of her brother and entrusting him with a scroll to Doji Uki-sama, thanking her for the gifted butterfly.

As the bride and groom left, so, too, did the vast majority of the other guests that had stayed overnight. Dajan and Kirino had not, Jiromasu noted. Dajan was wincing a little in the bright morning sunlight as he waved his cousin and his new bride off. Unsurprising, considering how much he had been under the influence of the kami of sake the night before. It was all but certain that the man’s head was aching badly. Jiromasu stood off to one side, waiting for the Ikoma to decide when to act on the challenge Jiromasu had laid before him the previous night.

Before Dajan had plucked up the courage to approach, Jiromasu saw Masatari head towards Meisuki, face grim.

“Akodo Meisuki-san, you claimed that I had insulted you last night. I am here to answer that charge,” he said stiffly.

Meisuki turned to look at him. She generally did not wear her daisho, but had put it on today and she nodded crisply. “This way, Masatari-sama,” she said. Jiromasu followed, as did many other interested bystanders who had overheard the exchange. And so too, Jiromasu noted, did Chomei, Kaoru, and Daizu, though they were seemingly trying to avoid Meisuki’s notice. Jiromasu wondered if they had been instructed not to watch the duel, though that seemed unlikely.

Meisuki led the Ikoma to the training yard and turned to face him. “Ikoma Masatari-sama,” she said. “Again, I charge that you have insulted myself and my family and that you have undertaken actions that have harmed us. And so I call you to account.”

“I hear your challenge, Akodo Meisuki-san,” Masatari answered. “And here I stand with my blade to answer it. May the ancestors guide our blades and show the truth.”

“Indeed,” Meisuki said. “And which shall it be, Masatari-sama, to first blood or to submission? Given past history, I would have us both be very clear on that point and ensure that those witnessing understand the parameters under which we cross blades. I would call for submission as the appropriate answer to the insults towards our family, but as the one challenged, it is up to you to decide that point.”

Jiromasu’s eyebrow rose and he watched a murmur of surprise ripple around the observing samurai. He also watched as Masatari’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. To push for a duel to submission was a message that the audience could not misinterpret. And clearly this was behaviour out of character for the reserved woman. That in itself would make the tale of this duel spread and lend weight to Meisuki’s accusations.

“I would not wish to leave your children with two badly injured parents,” Masatari said. “To first blood will suffice to prove my point.”

“Your consideration of” - a pause - “ my children’s welfare is observed,” Meisuki said. 

Jiromasu hid his smile with some difficulty as Meisuki’s veiled insult was not lost on the crowd. Masatari looked annoyed, which further increased Jiromasu’s enjoyment of this confrontation.
The two Lion began the preliminaries for the duel and Jiromasu noted that, when Lion duelled, there were a few minor differences in the opening rituals. Clearly it was not just wedding rites that varied clan to clan. He had not noted this in his previous duels with Lion, but then, this was the first duel he had observed that had two Lion as the participants. And, if he considered it, a duel against another Kakita also had some steps that he did not follow when his opponent was not also a Kakita. Interesting. 

The Akodo and the Ikoma moved to set themselves into the final position of readiness and Jiromasu felt the tension among the crowd rising. Then, with a suddenness that made Jiromasu start and that came far, far sooner than the Kakita expected, Meisuki ripped her sword from its scabbard and flung herself at the Akodo with a scream of fury, her sword striking out at him in a flurry of whip-quick blows that immediately had the man staggering back on the defensive. The Akodo was everywhere, her face a snarl of anger and aggression and her sword constantly on the move, on the attack, stopping Masatari from being able to regroup, stopping him from being able to think or do anything except work desperately to avoid her blade.

This, Jiromasu noted somewhat abstractly to himself as he watched her moving with a brutal fluidity and ease, was the fighting style of the Matsu berserker. When Akodo Meisuki had left her family and all that it meant to be Matsu behind, she had not excised her martial training. There was a terrible beauty to it, even as he could see flaws he might exploit as her opponent. But he could also imagine that being faced with the raw power and the sheer emotion behind the attack would be overwhelming and challenging to counter.

It was clear that, whatever Masatari had been expecting when he faced Meisuki, this was not it. It was not long before Meisuki’s blade made contact with Masatari’s leg on an upward swing of her sword, red blood arcing through the air as it was flung from the weapon’s edge. The crimson fluid sparked an immediate and jarring end to Meisuki’s attack as she flung herself backwards, out of range of any retaliatory strike, and then froze, breathing hard, her blade still up as she observed Masatari with hard, untrusting eyes.

Masatari put up his hand “I yield,” he said. When she did not move, he sheathed his sword.

Meisuki straightened and wiped her blade clean and then sheathed her weapon. Then she nodded to the heimin healers who had been standing off to one side and they came forward to help Masatari over to a bench to one side of the courtyard. As he limped away, Aromoro limped forward to bow his respect to his wife and Jiromasu’s eyes darted from Aromoro’s leg to Masatari’s, his lips twitching as he realised that the former-Matsu’s blade had sliced across Masatari’s shin at just about exactly the same spot as Aromoro’s broken bone had pierced his skin.

Well, that was certainly making a point.

Meisuki was still breathing heavily and her eyes were a little wild, pupils dilated in a way that indicated to Jiromasu that the woman was still in the grips of the adrenal rush of combat, despite the strict discipline she had needed to use to stop so abruptly on the completion of the agreed-upon end to the duel. Aromoro turned and offered her the arm he was not using for his cane. She took it and he began to lead her towards the house, nodding to Katai Osen, who walked over to hover near Masatari and the healers. They had to pass by Jiromasu to reach the entrance to the house and, as they passed into the shadowy corridors, he heard Aromoro informing the heimin servant there that they were going to their private rooms and that they were not to be disturbed for the next hour.

The stunned silence of the courtyard was giving way to the buzz of low conversation. The violence had been both shocking and also, for Jiromasu at least, quite cathartic, and he leaned against the wall of the house, watching Masatari wincing as the gash on his leg was cleaned and bandaged. He straightened, however, as Ikoma Dajan began to walk towards him, Kirino following close behind him.“Ikoma Dajan-san,” Jiromasu said, his voice and face both a careful neutral.

“Kakita Jiromasu-sama,” the young Lion said. He bowed. “I am here to offer my apologies for my disrespectful behaviour last evening. I spoke without honour and without truth.”

It was with some difficulty that Jiromasu kept his surprise from his face. “It is a wise man who can acknowledge his mistakes and a brave one who can admit to them,” he said, thankful for the time he had spent several years ago formulating a graceful acknowledgement of a samurai’s apology that meant that he was able to respond immediately rather than having to grope for words while still dealing with the surprise of this outcome. He had been all but certain that he was going to have to prove himself and he was fairly certain that this change of heart had a great deal to do with Meisuki-san’s words and actions.

He saw the relief flash in the Ikoma’s eyes and realised that the man hadn’t been certain that the apology would be enough. He relaxed a little and glanced at the two Lion. “You are cousins to Ikoma Sabaru-san, yes?”

“We are, Jiromasu-sama,” Kirino said.

“But you are not leaving with him?”

“Well, we were pretty sure that Sabaru-san wanted some time to get to know his wife,” Dajan replied. His face twisted for just a second. “I’m not sure I want to have to sit through witnessing that. I mean, I’m glad he’s excited but…”

Jiromasu’s lips twitched. “Probably best to give them space,” he agreed. He tried to picture the same situation with Kagami as the newly wed, but his mind, which managed to provide him with detailed scenarios in so many other situations, rebelled. He mentally poked at the blankness for a moment before deciding that his mind was probably showing considerable wisdom. “So, when are you leaving to return home?”

“Tomorrow,” Kirino said.

Jiromasu debated with himself for a moment, then decided that the risk was minimal and that the potential benefits were sufficient to warrant the risk. “I am escorting Chomei-kun and a few other children to the neighbouring village today to visit some friends while the household recovers from the exertions of hosting the wedding. The children are good company, but I would welcome adult companionship as well if you are inclined to join me and do not have anything else planned.”

The two Ikoma blinked in surprise and Dajan’s face turned thoughtful. “I appreciate your generosity, Jiromasu-sama,” he said. “When do you intend to leave?”

Jiromasu smiled. “Well, possibly a little earlier than we originally had planned, given that an expected morning appointment has turned out to be no longer necessary. Probably in about an hour’s time.”

The two young men exchanged glances, then Dajan nodded. “We would be honoured to join you.”

“Excellent.” Jiromasu glanced at them and decided to push just a little. “I will tell you the full story of my encounter with the Bride of the Forest along the way.”

“I look forward to the tale,” Kirino said.

***

Chomei looked down at the Lion army encampment and did not feel nearly as much concern as he had only a few short weeks ago. Part of that was that he had seen the result of Jiromasu-sama walking into the camp once before. The other part of it was that it was not just him and Jiromasu-sama this time. This time, he was riding down the slope towards the camp in the company of both his father and Katai Osen-san. 

Despite the success of his mother’s efficient and somewhat terrifying duel with Masatari-sama, none of the adults were comfortable with them riding off alone. There was too high a chance for retribution along the way. 

“I need to discuss some things with Hashiga-sama anyways,” Father had said, two days before they were to leave. “I have left the conversation for too long, as has become distressingly evident to me. Osen-san and I will ride with you.”

It had been hard to leave his mother, Kaoru, Daizu and the little ones. But it had been made infinitely easier by getting to spend the next several days with Father, Osen-san, and Jiromasu-sama. He had spent much of the ride silent, listening with a strange, warm tightness in his chest as the three men talked with ease about a great many topics and feeling torn between pride and a worry that they were humouring him when his opinion was asked and the answer was treated with the same serious consideration as any of theirs. His training continued on the journey - both Crane and Lion version - and had returned to Jiromasu-sama’s thrice daily sessions, before breakfast, at the mid-day meal, and in the evening. It took longer, covering both Kakita and Akodo kata, but Jiromasu-sama did not seem to be in a hurry to return to Chisana Basho and his father’s conversation with General Hashiga-sama, overdue as it might be, was not urgent enough to require speed, and so they travelled at a leisurely pace and

Chomei let himself believe that it was because Father wanted the chance to spend more time with him before he returned to solely Crane care. 

His father’s leg was still paining him, Chomei noticed, as the man could not quite suppress his wince as he took weight on it while dismounting. But it was better than it was and, while he was carrying his cane, he no longer relied as heavily on it. They followed the adjunct to Hashiga-sama’s tent, where the Akodo general had risen to his feet to greet them, his expression one of welcome.

“Aromoro-san! This is a pleasurable surprise,” he said. “Though perhaps I should have expected it. Jiromasu-san is escorting Chomei-kun back to the school, I assume?”

“He is,” Father agreed. “But I would have been seeking out your company regardless. I would have Jiromasu-san and my son report to you regarding what happened to them while they were visiting and then I would ask that you take my report in private.”

General Hashiga-sama’s face did something interesting as the man’s eyes moved across their group. It was too complicated for Chomei to parse, but there was a hardening of the man’s expression and the instructions he gave to his adjunct to secure the tent and post a guard to ensure their privacy were clipped. The adjunct gave a brisk nod, turned and left the tent, and Chomei could hear crisp orders being barked outside and the sound of moving men.

Chomei had not realised that he was going to be reporting to an Akodo general, especially not one as high-ranked as Hashiga-sama, and he suddenly felt a wash of nerves. He must have tensed, or somehow shown his dismay, as Jiromasu-sama, beside him, glanced down and then laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“It will be fine,” Jiromasu-sama said quietly. “You have told this tale before. Just take your time and share what happened. Do not worry about their reasons for doing so. Concentrate instead on what they did and what you did. It is a tale you can take pride in. You did very well for a samurai of your age.” He paused for a moment and then continued. “You did well even for a samurai much older than you.”
Bolstered by this reassurance, Chomei stood stiffly to attention in front of Hashiga-sama when the man turned to him and requested his report, and he relayed what had happened on the river flat and then at the bandit camp and in Ikoma Masatari-sama’s keep. The man’s piercing eyes and intense focus made Chomei stumble over his words once or twice, but overall, he didn’t feel he did too badly. He just hoped he hadn’t left out anything important. When he was done, the general asked a few questions of him and then turned to Jiromasu-sama. 

“It appears that it is your family line as a whole that brings interesting times with it,” General Hashiga-sama said wryly, “not just your Ishiken cousin.”

“My cousin and I merely bring to light what is obfuscated,” Jiromasu-sama said easily, “and provide clarity to what is murky.” He paused. “Of course, this is not behaviour that is always welcomed by those who would prefer the shadows hide their dishonour and the underhanded or corrupted means by which they operate.”

“Nor by those inclined to want to avoid dealing with such complicated concerns, I would imagine,” Hashiga-sama said. “However, I am a practical man. Akodo Chomei-kun’s report has been enlightening. I am sure that yours will be equally revealing.”

“For a man of your honour, it is more likely to be infuriating than anything else,” Jiromasu-sama admitted. “But as it is a Lion matter, it is most fitting that I share what I know with you, that you can best decide how to act on the information.”

Chomei had heard Jiromasu in full story-telling mode - his tale regarding confronting the Bride of the Woods had been riveting - and his report to General Hashiga-sama was not that. But it was also not a completely dry, factual accounting of events, either. At the end of it, the general pursed his lips and nodded. “I apologise, Jiromasu-san, for the insult of my clansman’s behaviour and his lack of adherence to the traditional and legal rules surrounding a duel. Rest assured that the Lion will be addressing such dishonourable behaviour.”

“Bushido is the ideal, General Hashiga-sama,” Jiromasu replied. “One to strive for and through which we might seek perfection. But men are flawed and fallible and this is true across clans. And it is up to those of us who cleave to our honour to address those flaws as best we might when we come across them. I have been fortunate enough to have been frequently in contact with the most honourable of Lion, ones who strive to embody bushido’s virtues. It was, perhaps, inevitable that I would eventually run across those whose actions fall short.”  

“A realistic assessment of the world,” the Akodo general sighed. He shook himself a little. “And Nikako-chan’s wedding went well?” he asked Aromoro. “It is hard to believe she is old enough. When I last saw her, she had not yet reached her gempuku.”

Chomei watched as his father considered his words before answering. “It was a very pleasant day, for the most part. Sabaru-san and she would seem to be a good fit. I think it will be a marriage that brings honour to them both and strength to the Lion, which is all that one could hope for as a parent. Ikoma Masatari-sama attended, as courtesy dictated. It is unfortunate that he did not adhere to the rules around hospitality. Meisuki-san had to address his behaviour, though she ensured it would be resolved after the last of the celebrations.”

Hashiga-sama muttered something under his breath that Chomei did not catch but his expression was one of irritation and resignation. Then his eyes suddenly widened and he looked up. “Meisuki-san addressed his behaviour?” he asked. 

Father looked smug. “Yes.”

Hashiga-sama scratched at his chin. “I only saw her fight once. Many years ago, before she married you and left her old family for her new. She has retained her skills?”

“Oh yes. They have not seen much use in her role as it now stands, but she fights much as she once did. She also called him a coward for hiding behind a champion and challenged him to face her himself.”

Hashiga-sama’s expression turned wistful. “Oh, I very much regret that I was not there to see that,” he said. “An angry mother can, on occasion, get away with saying what needs to be said. And I would have given much to see his expression when she drew her sword.”

“She fought most effectively,” Jiromasu-sama said. “It was somewhat startling, as one who has never seen a samurai with Matsu training fight a duel, but most instructive. I do not know what Masatari-sama expected when facing her, but I got the impression that she was something of a surprise.”

It hadn’t been what Chomei had been expecting either. And startling was a good word for it. The sheer level of emotion that Mother had poured into her sword-strokes had been completely unexpected and overwhelming. After she had won the duel and Father had led her away, he had huddled in a protected corner with Kaoru as they both just stared at each other for several minutes while Daizu kept watch for anyone who might interrupt them.

“I have never seen her fight before,” he had eventually said to his sister.

“I have seen her train,” Kaoru said. “But… it didn’t look anything like that! Well, I mean, it did. The strokes were the same, but…”

He had nodded. But. 

There hadn’t been time to discuss it further. Jiromasu-sama had come up to let them know that they would be heading over to the other village earlier than expected and they had scrambled to go get ready. By the time they had returned from the visit, Mother had been back to her normal self, if somewhat more relaxed than usual, and fully involved in the clean up and organisation needed by the conclusion of such a large social event.

“Jiromasu-san, Chomei-kun, thank you for your reports,” General Hashiga-sama was saying. “Perhaps you will go with Akodo Jotaro-san and show Katai Osen-san around the camp?” He sent a wry look Jiromasu’s way. “Or perhaps you might be interested in fighting your way through half the samurai in camp again? I know there is more than one of my men who would welcome the chance at a rematch.”

Jiromasu-sama smiled, a sharp-edged grin that Chomei had learned meant that the Kakita was primed for battle, whether it was a physical or a social contest that he was facing. “I am, of course, completely at their disposal,” he said. “I very much enjoyed the experience last time. But Katai Osen-san has not been here before, I believe, so a tour of the camp would likely be welcome.”

“I would not be adverse to watching you fight your way through half the camp,” Osen said easily. “The chance to see you fighting where the outcome is not Chomei-kun’s freedom would likely be as instructive as learning about the camp.”

Hashiga-sama huffed out a laugh. “Well, then, Jotaro-san. Make the tour short to allow time for such a contest.”

“As you say, General.”

True to his word, Jotaro-sama took them on a quick tour of the camp, ending at the training grounds, where a large number of samurai were gathered around a central training circle and Chomei realised that when the Akodo had paused to say something quietly to another officer as they moved away from the command tent, he had been letting the man know to spread the word. Shouts of welcome and challenge rang out from the waiting samurai and Jiromasu-sama waved back an acknowledgment, his half-smile far further towards smirk than it usually was. Clearly the Kakita was amused and entertained by the welcome. He turned to Jotaro-sama. “Will you be the one to honour me with my first battle?”

“I will gladly cross swords with you again, Jiromasu-sama,” the Akodo said, with a thin but good-humoured smile.

Space was made at the front of the circle of spectators for their little group and Jiromasu carefully took off his katana, handing it to Osen-san to hold. Chomei’s old sensei bowed as he accepted the charge, a wordless look passing between the two men that spoke strongly of mutual respect.

What happened next was very much a repeat of their first visit to the camp. Jiromasu-sama took on a stream of opponents, either through duel or open spar, and while some posed more of a challenge than others, all were defeated. It was probably about an hour into the contest that Father and Hashiga-sama joined them on the sidelines to observe and they watched in silence for some time before Father shook his head. “I knew he was good,” he said. “His reputation does precede him. But it is one thing to know it and another to see him in action.”

“I have reports of what it looks like when he fights with the rest of his group,” General Hashiga-sama said. “He is good alone. He is even better when he has their support. That is not always the case with those this skilled. There is the tendency to rely only on oneself. Yet he can see and make use of the strengths of others in battle as well.”

Father considered this as Jiromasu-sama’s sword struck his current opponent a solid blow to her thigh. She yelped and then swore and bowed her surrender. The Kakita bowed back, eyes sparkling with the excitement of the contest as he then cast about for his next opponent. A young Matsu stepped forward and bowed and Jiromasu-sama laughed.

“Matsu Suni-san,” he said, and bowed in return. “It is a pleasure to meet you in combat again. Shall we go straight to spar, or would you like to duel me once more?”

Chomei blinked and looked again. Yes, the woman was the same one that they had encountered at the beginning of their journey though Lion lands. The woman was smiling at Jiromasu-sama, a toothy grin that looked closer to a snarl.

“Open combat, this time,” she said, catching the bokken that Jiromasu-sama’s defeated opponent tossed to her. 

“As you wish,” Jiromasu-sama took a ready-stance, training sword up and weight balanced carefully on the balls of his feet. At Jotaro-sama’s signal - the Akodo had become the de facto referee to these matches - the wooden blade lashed out, causing the Matsu to jump backwards.

Suni-sama was fast and, while Jiromasu-sama was the better swordsman and could counter her attacks without too much trouble, actually landing a blow was surprisingly challenging. The two of them danced around the ring, the occasional shout of exertion or the clack of their wooden blades meeting a counterpoint to the rise and fall of sound from the watching Lion as they cheered particularly daring moves or groaned as a feint failed.

As they were engaged in a spirited flurry of blows, Suni-sama’s face a scowl of concentration and Jiromasu’s lips thin as they sought for an opening, a small green bird flew down into the practice ring. It fluttered around the two battling bushi, the whirring flutter of wings in their faces enough to have the two of them jumping apart with startled exclamations. Suni-sama stared as the bird landed on Jiromasu’s shoulder. The Kakita gave a little groan, holding a hand up to the Matsu as the bird opened its beak. Chomei couldn’t hear what it said, too far away for its whispered message to be audible, but he had to bite back his giggles. That must have been one of Kagami-sama’s messenger birds. One with terrible timing, it would appear. As the bird disappeared into a puff of air, the startled murmuring of the crowd increased.

“My apologies, Suni-san,” Jiromasu-sama said. “A communication from my cousin.”

“Yes,” the Matsu said. “I am sure it was reassuring to hear that her health has improved and that her cat has begun stealing her brushes if she does not put them away immediately after using them.”

A ripple of laughter made its way around the ring of watching samurai. Jiromasu-sama grinned as well. “My cousin is my main charge,” he said. “And while that responsibility is now shared, her welfare is always a primary concern for me and she is inclined to find trouble, or perhaps I should say that trouble finds her, when I leave her for any extended period of time. She has been sending me daily messages to ensure I do not worry. Unfortunately, the Air kami have no sense of timing, at least as it pertains to men.” He shrugged ruefully. “Do you wish to continue? Or has this ill-timed disruption effectively ended this confrontation in a draw due to outside interference?”

“An honourable end, but not a satisfying one,” the Matsu replied. She raised the sword again. “Shall we continue?”

Jotaro-sama started the match once more and it eventually ended with a decisive sword-stroke from Jiromasu-sama which connected with Suni-sama’s forearm. The Matsu bowed her surrender as she shook out her arm. “There was no rut in the road for me to blame this one on,” she acknowledged. “Well fought, Jiromasu-sama,”

“I have appreciated the chance to test my skill against yours,” Jiromasu-sama replied.

General Hashiga-sama stepped forward then to end the contest and to instruct Jotaro-sama to take Jiromasu-sama off to the baths so that he could refresh himself before the mid-day meal. As the spectators returned to whatever duties they had abandoned in order to observe or participate in this contest, Chomei turned to follow at his father’s heels as the two older Akodo took their own leisurely tour of the camp. This was his last day with Father, and Chomei was going to make the most of it.

Chapter Text

Jiromasu watched as Chomei spun through the last of the katas he had learned and held the final pose for a long minute. Then Yarato called an end to the session and the boy straightened, bowing to the Kakita sword-master. The man pulled a bokken from a rack by the wall and stepped forward, gesturing to Chomei to prepare for an open spar. The boy swallowed, then nodded, raising his own sword in response.

Jiromasu watched with a considerable amount of pride as Chomei demonstrated what he had learned over the past month. The boy’s progress had been remarkable and, while a great deal of that improvement had to do with his previous training and his innate abilities, Jiromasu knew that it was his intensive work with the boy on building on that foundation that had allowed him to improve with such stunning speed. Beside him, Motohiro chuckled.

“You will have won me five zeni,” he said. “I am not a sword-master, but I can see how far the boy has come since you both left. He may not be at a level with his age peers yet, but he has far outstripped the youngest.”

Jiromasu nodded. “We still had a few kata left to learn to have him caught up to his peers, but he is much, much closer. If there were any willing to give him private tuition, I believe that a few more weeks would see him able to rejoin those of his age.” He glanced over at Motohiro. “Would you be able to help push for that, Motohiro-sama? I have grown fond of the boy and he is a dedicated student who will face many other challenges living in Crane lands and going to a Crane school. It would be a kindness to remove this one burden from his young shoulders.”

“Saito-san’s last letter informed me that the boy has some new tales to boast to,” the Asahina said, by way of response. “And that you do as well.”

“It was to be expected that a journey through Lion lands would bring with it certain… excitement.” Jiromasu said with a grin. “I believe that I managed to uphold Crane honour and continue with Doji Uki-sama’s efforts to attempt diplomatic relations between Chisana Basho and its neighbour to the north. And Chomei-kun showed bravery and intelligence, as well as appropriate obedience and respect. And also found a way to remove himself from an untenable situation and had the wits to respond to the situation in a way that allowed those involved to save face and deescalate what could have turned out badly. It is a tale I’m happy to share.”

“Perhaps this evening in the common room,” Motohiro said. He glanced around at the small audience of instructors and students that had formed to watch the Kakita duelling master testing the Lion in their midst. “It would be good for us to know the extent of the events of the past few weeks and, from what I have understood, will do much to support such an expenditure of time on a single student.”

Jiromasu nodded. He had spent time on the way back to the school considering how, and how much, to share of the events that had taken place over the past few weeks. The awareness of there being something of a political schism taking place within the Lion leadership was not something about which to casually gossip, but it would be possible to share the story of what had happened in his visit to Akodo Aromoro’s lands in such a way that it painted Chomei’s father in a positive light while only hinting at that unrest. Enough of the instructors - Crane and used to political intrigue, though perhaps not as primed to see it amongst the other clans - would read between the lines.

Doji Uki had been interested to hear of the target Aromoro apparently had painted on his back and Jiromasu had mused aloud regarding which clan had suggested Chomei as a hostage as part of the ransom for the Akodo general.

“An interesting question,” Uki had agreed. “I may well ask someone to look into that. If Aromoro knew his son, as heir, might be in danger if he remained in Lion lands, then having him in the heart of Crane lands for a time, until the acuteness of the threat passed, may have made that part of the ransom something of a boon, rather than a concession. And I think I would like to know more about this Aromoro-san. It would appear he is aligned with General Hashiga-san, and I am inclined to believe that General Hashiga-san has more sense than many Lion of my acquaintance. And that is not just because Saito-san enjoyed the experience of fighting Shadowlands monsters with him.” Her expression was fond as she glanced over to where Saito was playing a game of shoji with Chomei. The Kakita duellist looked up with a smile of his own that said he was listening to their conversation while also playing the game. Given the little flash of dismay that crossed his face as he looked back down and saw the move Chomei had just made, it would appear that the handicap of divided attention was working to the boy’s advantage.

There was little to be lost in letting the school’s instructors know of the challenges that Chomei had faced while visiting his family. The boy’s coolness under stress and his determination would be marks in his favour and the idea that the boy’s presence in the school was possibly making life more difficult for Lion who would use a child as a weapon would likewise increase the chances of them looking on Chomei with a sympathetic eye.

Then it would be time for him to return to Chisana Basho. He had been gone long enough and he had duties to perform in the north. The rest of the northern yoriki had not voiced any complaint regarding having to shoulder his tasks as well as theirs on either of the times they had stopped by Yoriki House, but Jiromasu was aware of the imposition of his absence. It was going to be odd leaving his little Akodo shadow behind, though. The boy’s constant presence had become familiar and it had been intriguing to see the world through a child’s eyes again. To try and explain the complexity of the world to a child’s view of justice and honour and to examine the world from both Crane and Lion perspectives as he gave careful answers. It had been an additional layer of complexity to the last month that had been invigorating.

He was not sure he had made much headway regarding the question of what path to take as far as his own future was concerned, however. The political footwork he had been required to do over the past month had been an enjoyable challenge, but with it came the awareness that importance on the political stage came with risks to those you cared about and who were dependent on you. But they were all pieces on someone else’s shogi board, he supposed. The question became whether you were merely a piece to be moved about, or whether you played your own games with your own pieces in play. Politics and people’s motivations were an intriguing puzzle. Was he really willing to give that up, to allow himself to be moved about the board on another’s whim?

He noticed several of the students whispering between themselves as Chomei bowed to Yarato as the sword-master signalled an end to the spar. The boy’s increased skill was as evident in his sparring as it had been in his kata and Jiromasu watched as Yarato gave the young Akodo an approving nod. He said something quietly to Chomei and the boy bowed again, more deeply this time. Then he put his bokken away and came walking over to Jiromasu, his whole body radiating his pride.

“Yarato-sama says that I am to train with those only a year younger than I am,” he said eagerly, still breathless from the spar.

Jiromasu glanced over at the sword-master. Yarato caught his eye and gave him an nod. Jiromasu felt his own flush of pleasure at that mark of approval from the always-stern instructor. He looked back at Chomei. “I am not surprised. It would have been an injustice to keep you back with the youngest, when you have made the progress you have, as quickly as you have. I would be surprised if you are not with your age-mates by this fall.” He smiled at the boy. “Humility is an important skill for a bushi to practice. With arrogance comes a blindness to one’s flaws and difficulty seeing one’s failures. But humility can be a flaw in itself when it does not allow one to see their strengths. Never let anyone tell you that what you have accomplished this past month is not remarkable. It has been an honour to instruct you and give you a foundation in the Kakita ways.”

“It is I who am honoured, Jiromasu-sama,” the boy said, earnest and sincere. “You were a fine teacher and I am deeply in your debt for taking me home to visit my family.”

Jiromasu shook his head. “I was pleased for the opportunity to advance positive relations between our Clans and to be of service to my school. And…” he paused for a moment and then continued. “My cousin had difficulty making friends at school. She was too different and, like you, from a different clan to her classmates, though at least there was not a history of animosity between Phoenix and Crane. She made friends, but it took time. Having a teacher who believed in her and who honoured her strengths made all the difference.” He cocked his head and smiled. “I look forward to hearing stories of your successes.”

***

Chomei watched until Jiromasu-sama’s horse had made its way around the bend in the road and out of sight. The Kakita had looked back just before he made the turn, though Chomei was not sure if he was looking for Chomei or just looking at his old school before returning to Chisana Basho. The Kakita had not waved, nor had Chomei, but Chomei liked to think that it was both that had turned Jiromasu-sama around for that brief second before he continued on and the odd interlude in an odd year was officially ended.

He had been very lucky, he thought, as he made his way back into the school complex. The Fortunes had smiled upon him, sending him exactly what he had needed to help him find his feet at the school. Jiromasu-sama had been kind and patient and very skilled and the fact that he’d been willing to train Chomei at all, let alone offering to escort him all the way into Lion lands and back, said a great deal about him. The Kakita had tasked him with sending monthly reports on his progress and Chomei was determined that by the time it was time to send the first one, he would have learned enough to be closing in on his goal of joining his age-mates.

He wandered back into the dormitory and sank down onto his sleeping mat, staring at the trinkets he had placed on the little wooden shelf fixed on the wall. A thick scroll sat on the shelf, a manual of basic Akodo kata that was a gift from his father. Sitting beside it was an origami Lion, gifted to him by the giant Daidoji who was Jiromasu-sama’s friend and a member of the northern yoriki. The big man had folded it for him the evening they stayed at Yoriki House as they travelled back down through Chisana Basho. That had been an interesting evening, as they told their stories to the others to the accompaniment of images and sound thanks to Jiromasu-sama’s cousin Kagami-sama. He had heard the outline of what had happened with the ambush when Jiromasu-sama and his father had come in response to the bandit attack, but it was something else to see the poor horse’s kicking legs in its death-throes, his father pinned beneath its bulk. And he wondered what images were shown as he told his tale. Kagami-sama had had her hands over her mouth, eyes wide as she stared up at the images above his head as he described his escape from his cell. It was after those tales that the Daidoji had left the room briefly, returning with a piece of yellow paper, and had settled down in silent focus, not looking up until he had the paper beast completed. Chomei shook his head, clearing the memory away, smiling. The stick he had used in that very first sparring session with Jiromasu was also leaning up against the shelf and he reached out to grip it.

“You’re Chomei, right?”

Chomei spun around to see a girl standing behind him, her arms crossed over her chest. She had been one of the students from the training session with his new class this morning.

“Yes?” he said. She was frowning at him, but it didn’t seem to be a frown of dislike, more like she was thinking really hard.

“And you’re a Crane foster-child.”

“Yes.” It didn’t hurt nearly as much to acknowledge that fact any more.

“Huh. Me too.”

“Really?” Chomei was stunned. He hadn’t realised there were any others in the school.

“Yeah. I’m Suzume Ariko. Sparrow clan. I guess my parents did a favour for some Kakita once and so they gave me a place at the Kakita school.” She looked around the room. “S’pretty good here for the most part, I guess. But sometimes the Crane can get awfully… Crane.”

“Oh, you’re actually a foster child,” Chomei said, nodding. “I’m a hostage, really.”

“But they sent you to this school?” Ariko’s eyebrows rose.

“It was part of the ransom exchange. I was to be given martial training.”

“Well, they could have just had someone train you at their compound,” she pointed out. “I’d say you’re closer to foster child than hostage. I mean… it can’t have been easy getting you in here.

That was… true, actually. Huh. “Have you been here long?”

The girl shrugged. “Three years now,” she said. “Had to play catch up, ‘cause everyone else has been training these katas since they were staggering around still in swaddling clothes, seems like.”

“Tell me about it!” he groused and she grinned at him in fellow feeling. 

“I overheard one of the instructors saying that you weren’t likely to stay in our class long. That they’re going to give you some special extra classes to try and get you caught up with the others.”

Chomei’s eyes widened. He hadn’t heard anything about that, but he was sure that this was a parting gift from Jiromasu-sama. “Oh.” He wasn’t sure what to say.

She glared at him without any particular heat. “Oh, he says. So, what I figure is that after they have taught it to you, you can teach it to me.” She smiled winningly at him. “Us foster-children need to stick together, right?”

Chomei looked at the girl. She was doing a good job of projecting her confidence, but there was something oddly fragile and vulnerable underneath the assertive suggestion that he share his knowledge. A loneliness that he understood. It would be good to have someone around who would understand when all the… Craneness… got to be a little too much.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said and the girl’s shoulders untensed.

“Really?” Her enthusiasm was a brilliant warmth that helped ease some of the constant ache that missing his family created in his chest.

“Really,” he said, pulling himself to his feet.

“Sweet. I’ll teach you some Sparrow techniques as well,” she promised, hopping along beside him as he walked towards the doors to the outside, rather like her clan’s namesake.

“Want to start now?” he offered. “I’ll show you a place I go to practice and I’ll teach you one of the Lion feints.”

“Zakennayo, yes!”

Chomei smiled as he led the way down to the river, glad to have found a potential ally and maybe a friend.

***

Jiromasu finished reading the letter Chomei had sent and smiled. The boy was only a middling letter writer, his train of thought jumping around in a way that made reading his intent a bit of a challenge. Even so, Jiromasu had been able to parse the boy’s letter - his report - and he was pleased. He was receiving his extra training and he reported that his instructors were happy with his progress. The fact that he was turning around and immediately teaching what he learned to his new friend was probably increasing the speed with which he was picking it up. No one appeared to have noticed yet that Suzume Ariko’s skills were progressing more quickly as well, but, from the sounds of it, the two of them were plotting to make the reveal something of a surprise. Jiromasu approved.

“Chomei-kun has found himself a Little Sparrow,” he commented to the room in general.

“What?” Kagami stood and came to peer at the letter over his shoulder. He handed it to her with a grin so that she could read it and opened the second letter he had received, this one from Asahina Motohiro. It had an unexpected weight to it and he slit the seal, tipping fifteen zeni into his palm. He unfolded the letter, which was very short.

<i>To the renown and honourable graduate of our school, Kakita Jiromasu-san,

You win. I will be shifting my strategy to one that served me well when it was you who attended here.

May Daikoku continue to bless your decisions,

Asahina Motohiro.</i>

He grinned. Chomei had not mentioned anything about that in his letter, but then Jiromasu had never mentioned it in his letters home, either, far too worried that his parents would try and stop him from participating in the climbing contest. Kagami had gotten to hear about it, of course, but then she had been privy to far more of his thoughts through their regular correspondence. She had worried - she always did - but she had cheered him on and celebrated his success. 

“I am glad he has found a friend,” Kagami said, handing him back the letter. She gave the coins in his hand a quizzical look. “Asahina Motohiro sent you money?”

“A wager that came due,” Jiromasu said. He smiled. “I would imagine I will have another such letter sometime this summer, when Chomei-kun advances to train with his age-mates.”

“You were betting on Chomei-kun?” Kagami sounded just slightly scandalised. Goro, on the other hand, huffed out a laugh.

“From what little I have seen and what you have told us, I would bet on that child more often than not,” he said. “Seems to have worked so far.”

“Indeed,” Jiromasu grinned at the Crab as he slipped the zeni into his coin purse. “Though it was a little shocking to find out that my old instructors place bets on the behaviours and actions of their students.

Kagami’s eyes widened. “I will have to ask Natsu-sama whether the same thing happened at the Isawa school.”

Goro snorted. “I’m sure it probably did,” he said.

Jiromasu listened with half an ear as Kagami and Goro began to theorise about what shugenja school teachers would bet on. Some of the possible wagers were vaguely alarming, though he supposed scaling the central tower at the Kakita school was not without risk either. He re-read Chomei’s letter and smiled. He was looking forward to the boy’s next report.