Probability Angels: Part 6

March 6, 2008 by josephdevon · 2 Comments

Probability Angels

Part 6: The Monk, the Warrior, and the Lord

Joseph Devon

(Please note: This story is the sixth part of a series of stories beginning with, “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and while it is designed to stand alone it does draw heavily on the foundation of characters and events that were created in “Probability Angels: Part 1,” and continued through Parts 2, 3, 4 and 5. Basically, I have to highly recommend that you start at “Probability Angels: Part 1” and continue on in order.

Or you can go here and buy the book or go here and view the book in its entirety.)

Kyokutei walked through the upscale hotel restaurant. There were lustrous burgundy leather booths and thick crystal glasses everywhere. A waiter clicked a long lighter a few times and an order of Banana’s Foster was set into motion. The atmosphere was thick and conversation seemed barely able to make it across the tables before falling with soft thuds into the thick carpet.

Kyo disapproved and found himself disliking the entire place. His nose curled in a snarl, although he was unaware that his emotions were leaking onto his face.

He was dressed in a frayed rayon suit and his neck was worn red from the cheap collar stays in his shirt. None of the diners or waiters noticed him as he walked, literally, through some of their tables. He made his way to the rear of the room and then ducked into the kitchen. Walking through a chef or two and past a rack of rolls he turned into a back corridor, past a walk-in refrigerator and freezer, then through a doorway covered with thick plastic strips and onto a loading dock. A few more turns through boxes and past a row of metal lockers painted gunmetal green and he was in the loading dock office.

Hector was seated at a beat up lunch table reading a tattered paperback novel with a cowboy on the cover. He folded it closed and tapped it against his thigh leaning his large frame back in his seat as he stared up at Kyo through his mirrored sunglasses.

“Gregor here yet?” Kyo asked.

Hector shook his head. “Not yet.”

Kyo pulled a metal folding chair out across from Hector and sat down. He looked around the room, then over at a stack of newspapers, puzzle books and pornographic magazines piled next to a work sink. He stood up and began flipping through, looking for something to read.

“Feel like a game of cards?” Hector asked from behind him.

Kyo flipped through a few more naked woman and crossword puzzles then turned around and agreed. “Sure,” he said, returning to his seat.

Hector produced a deck of cards with the shine worn off of them and began to shuffle. The slough of old cards filled the room as Kyo tried to make himself comfortable in the warped metal chair. Hector cut the deck, cupping one half in each hand, then shuffled again.

“So,” Hector said, “can I ask you about-”

“No,” Kyo answered.

Hector shrugged off this rebuke with a quick laugh, as if he had been expecting it, and continued talking, only handling more of the conversation by himself without looking to Kyo for any input.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I have you pegged from somewhere in feudal Japan. But that’s a pretty large swatch of time, so that doesn’t exactly narrow the field down much, does it?”

He smiled and slid the deck of cards into the middle of the table. Kyo reached out and cut the deck, dropping one half next to the other. Hector reassembled the pack. “You know I’ve met a couple of testers from that era. Lots of samurai wind up in our group.” He began dealing, the sound of cards against smooth metal the only response to Hector’s unspoken questions.

“From what I’ve gathered,” Hector continued on undaunted, “the old samurai code, or whatever you called it, gave you a pretty solid in into our little world. You had to uphold such,” he stopped dealing as he searched for the right word, the sudden silence stifling, “loyalty to your master, your…what is it?” He snapped his fingers a few times.

“Daimyo,” Kyo said.

“Right,” Hector said, smiling again, enjoying the small output he had drawn out of Kyo. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting one’s daimyo,” he spoke the word slowly, sounding it out, looking to Kyo as he did so as if for verification of his pronunciation, but Kyo gave no reaction. “So this loyalty was so strong that protecting the daimyo was basically a constant. Almost any action to protect another person in the line of duty would create the needed two choices because there was always this protecting of the master in mind. It’s like a free pass. Does that sound right?”

Kyo still didn’t answer. He only leaned back in his chair, facing half towards the table and half towards the wall and began drumming one set of fingers on the table. Hector laughed, clearly enjoying the difficulty of drawing any reaction out of Kyo. He resumed dealing.

“Fine, don’t answer,” Hector said.

The cards rasped across the table softly.

Kyo’s fingers drummed down repeatedly.

The rhythmic staccato patter of the drummer’s sticks drew to an end leaving only the soft sound of wind through the snowfall.

Kyokutei, samurai of the Tsuwano Domain, was standing in the town square watching as three official looking men gathered to address the crowd gathering around the drummer’s summoning. Everyone in the crossroads was at a standstill. Even the wind died down allowing the snow to fall in thick drifting flakes that piled up on Kyo’s cheekbones before melting. Kyo had heard this proclamation read in another village of the domain yesterday.

Word had spread and most of the townspeople knew to some degree what was coming, but as the proclamation was read there was a broad range of reactions and a lot of confusion as the extent of the news sank in.

“People of the Tsuwano Domain,” one of the men read. He was a samurai, his ceremonial helmet and armor imposing in the dark winter afternoon, “your master and leader, Ichiro Hideyoshi, has been sentenced to an honorable death by Imperial decree after an incident in The Imperial Palace. All lands of the Tsuwano Domain are to become the property of Akira Mitsukuni.” The man to the left of the samurai preened as this was read, and Kyo shielded his eyes from the snow to get a better look at him. Dressed in the robes of a statesman, Akira Mitsukuni was a thin bony man whose most discernable feature was a large mole growing on his cheek.

The third man of the group was less familiar to Kyo. Dressed in the elegant robes of a monk, the man’s head was shaved bald and he was taller than either of the other two.

“All goods and belongings owned by the former master Hideyoshi,” the samurai continued reading, “are as of now officially the property of Akira Mitsukuni. This includes any land or goods belonging to the family of the former master.”

Kyo knew what was coming next and he began to make his way through the crowd of villagers, all of whom scattered in front of him.

“All servants of your former master,” the samurai in the center of the square went on, “are now to serve in the Mitsukuni house. And all samurai who served Ichiro Hideyoshi are to become ronin. They now have no master.

“This case has been decided by imperial decree. Ichiro Hideyoshi was allowed an honorable death at his own hands. According to the Emperor this incident has been dealt with fairly and no further action,” the samurai’s words grew in volume and intensity as he read this, “is required.”

As Kyo continued through the crowd he wondered if the change he felt was real or in his imagination, if the people surrounding him were actually thinking about him differently already or if that was all in his head.

The mud was frozen into ridges under his feet and the snow continued to fall in stale white rifts as he walked along. He approached the edge of town where he had left his horse. She was tied up where the western road finally shed off the last of the shops that sat alongside.

Kyo stopped and ran his hands down his horse’s nose. She pressed back against him appreciatively. Without realizing it, Kyo passed a long while like this, lost in thought, feeling his horse’s velvet brown muzzle under his palm. He was roused from his thoughts by the pounding of horse hooves on the frozen mud road. He backed up around to the far side of his horse and watched over her saddle as the three men who had read the proclamation, the monk, the samurai and the lord, all rode past on their way out of the town. With anger Kyo noticed that he had remained behind his horse, had ducked behind her saddle, had hidden from sight.

The decree stated that his lord was dead and that he was now without a master. Lesser samurai should begin their new lives as ronin immediately, but as one of Ichiro’s closest advisors it was expected of him to honor the memory of his lord by refusing to live such an existence and join Ichiro in death by his own hand instead. All of this he knew, yet standing in the road as those three men rode past had upset him greatly and he was angry when he climbed up onto his horse. He was angry when he rode off east in the direction of his home. He was angry when he stopped at the roadside stall just on the outskirts of his own village.

There were no other customers, not surprising on a winter’s afternoon, and Kyo walked up to the bamboo counter and stood leaning against it. The hut was cozy and the cedar planks used to soften the look of the hard wooden struts created a pleasant aroma.

“Was the proclamation any different the second time you heard it?” a friendly voice said, and Kyo turned to see Noboru walking into the hut. Noboru was a squat dumpling of a man who had been running this stall, serving up his daily creations, since the day Kyo had come to serve under lord Ichiro. Back then Noboru had been a boy but his skill in cutting a fresh fish had been apparent. As a samurai of the domain it was customary for Kyo to get to know the local artisans, and Kyo’s love of sushi had made him a frequent visitor to Noboru’s hut. Over the years a strong bond had developed between him and the sushi chef. After a long period away from home this stall was always Kyo’s first stop before continuing on to his house and many conversations while lingering over sake had drifted into things Kyo would rather not carry over the threshold of his own doorway.

“No,” Kyo said as Noboru laid out a woven mat on the counter, “the proclamation was the same.”

“Not surprising,” Noboru said. He began creating.

“I didn’t recognize the monk,” Kyo said.

“He was recently placed in charge of the monastery up in the hills.”

Kyo nodded at this. “And the samurai looks familiar enough.”

“Date Masamune. Second in command to Akira.” Noboru began to plate a few pieces on the woven mat.

“That’s what I thought,” Kyo said, waiting until Noboru had finished before taking in the presentation with his eyes. After examining it for a few moments, he plucked up a piece and peeled the outer layer of rice off, exposing the pungent aroma of fermented carp. It was deep and earthy and with a lingering punch that flowered far back in the depths of his skull. He tossed the rice into a wooden bucket next to the counter and popped the fish into his mouth, savoring the give of the meat and the odors that wafted up into his nose.

“It’s an Imperial decree,” Noboru said, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Kyo nodded, took another piece, peeled and chewed and savored and swallowed. “I serve my master first.”

“Then you know what you need to do,” Noboru said. Kyo was obliged to follow his master into the next world. To accept the life of a ronin would be an insult to his former master, not to mention a humiliating role for Kyo to assume.

“I serve my master,” Kyo repeated.

“It was an Imperial decree,” Noboru said.

“I serve my master-”

“It was an Imperial decree!” Noboru shouted, banging his fist down on the bar.

Kyo turned and glared at him. Had the two not known each other for almost two decades the act of an artisan daring to interrupt a samurai would have been unheard of. They were friends, though, and such exchanges were welcome if not encouraged by Kyo. Still, as Kyo’s hard eyes burned into Noboru’s face, it was made clear that nothing further would be tolerated.

Noboru took a deep breath and regathered his thoughts. “The decree clearly stated that the Emperor viewed this matter as closed and no further actions were to be taken. He was disavowing any thoughts of revenge. This isn’t a local matter anymore; this has the Emperor’s eye. Ichiro is gone. His power is transferred to Akira. And you should take the honorable route and join your master.”

“My master was set up,” Kyo said, “and this was nothing more than a power play by Akira. The monk was lying. The samurai was lying. And,” Kyo continued, holding a piece of sushi up as he spoke, his eyes focused on some far off point, his words coming out stubborn and unchanging, “I serve my master first.”

He popped the piece of sushi into his mouth and began to munch on it.

“Shit,” Noboru said nervously.

Kyo grunted in agreement.

The plastic flaps in the entranceway rustled and Kyo looked up from his cards to see Gregor and Nyx coming into the back office. Kyo placed his cards face down on the table and slid them towards the center. “I almost had gin again,” he said.

“Yeah, sure you did,” Hector said, not relinquishing his cards.

Kyo began to stand up as Gregor drew near but Gregor waved him back down, smiling. “Please,” Gregor said, “finish your game. I’ll make a pot of coffee.”

Kyo was frozen half in and out of his seat by this statement. He seemed unsure of what to do but after a bit he sat himself back down and gathered up his cards.

“All right,” Hector said, discarding, “let’s just see how you-”

“Gin,” Kyo said, picking up Hector’s discard and laying his hand face up on the table. “And I don’t want any coffee, thanks,” he said, swiveling around to look at Gregor. “I’d like to just hear what you have to say and be on my way.”

Gregor turned, the empty glass coffee pot from the coffee maker on the counter in his hands. “That’s what I like about you, Kyo,” he said, “always direct. Always to the point. Always professional.”

“Thank you,” Kyo said. “Can we get on with this?”

“Sure, sure,” Gregor said. “Although I’d like some coffee. Let me just make up a pot?”

“Sure,” Kyo said. “Just try and make it quick.”

“I can’t control how fast water bleeds flavor from coffee grinds,” Gregor said conversationally. “Wait,” he went on, looking more intently at the coffee maker, his voice occupied now, “can I control that? You know I’ve never thought to…” he leaned in and began to peek and peer at the coffee machine from various angles.

Water began to drip into the pot, a high pitched ringing sounding through the room as the empty glass vibrated. Slowly the pitch changed as more water accumulated. Hector began to deal out more cards, sluffing them across the table.

It was during another snowfall next to the fountain in their garden that his wife had finally turned on him. Five months had gone by since the enforcing of the edict had made him a ronin and he had done nothing to avert the shame this brought upon his family. If anything he had been doing his best to bring more shame than the title of ronin alone could bring. He had been frequenting bars and brothels in the local town and had been known to stay out all night in a drunken stupor.

“You,” his wife seethed at him. “You think nothing of me. You think nothing of your son. You only drink and whore and drink some more. Other samurai who served Lord Ichiro beside you, they have long ago brought great honor upon their families by following their master into the next world but you have done no such thing. You lack the courage to be what you have to be; instead you act like a coward. It is bad enough that you turn your back on your former master, but to not even seek out a new master to serve so that this family might once again hold its head up high. You are lower than the shit clinging to the bottom of the pig out in the yard.”

Kyo loved his wife. And she was entirely right, which only made him love her more. Her outburst had been within earshot of two visitors to their house that day as well as any number of servants, and even though their privacy was supposed to be guaranteed within their own house, Kyo knew that word would get out that his wife had tried to shame him and rebuke him and get him to do the right thing.

It was enough. He could leave the house now and separate himself from his wife and son and it would all be his own fault in the eyes of the domain.

That evening he made it formal by having a notary draw up papers of divorce. He would never see her again. He would never see his twelve year old son become a man.

It hurt. But Kyo bore it.

He went to Noboru’s hut after. Again there were no other patrons. He stood next to the counter and listened as Noboru swore while laying down the woven mat and muttered to himself while preparing a few pieces of sushi. There was a rift in Noboru’s personality as he proved unable to not prepare a plate to the best of his ability even while cursing and displaying obvious disappointment at Kyo’s presence.

“Five months,” he said when the plate was arranged. “Five months!” he said again, not raising his voice but speaking in a forced whisper, as if worried about being overheard.

“They expected something like this,” Kyo said, peeling the rice off of a piece of fish. “All three of them have been guarded since the day these lands became Akira’s. They needed convincing that there was nothing to guard against. Patience was required.”

“Five months and all you have done is drink and rot.”

Kyo stared down at the woven mat decorated with pieces of sushi and didn’t deny this. “Patience was needed,” he said. “And tonight the monk dies.”

Noboru repeated the fear he had voiced countless times in the past few months. “The gods will be furious with you, Kyo, if you attack a monk on holy land.”

“He’s no monk,” Kyo said, chewing a piece of fish. He swallowed laboriously, the piece of sushi sticking in his throat. “And I serve my master first,” he said distantly.

That night in the mountain monastery Chiro Takase, the tall bald monk, stirred in his sleep. His bed was soft and his sheets were smooth and his large room was ornately decorated to impress even lower ranking lords with the worldly wealth that Chiro had accumulated. Chiro was about to fade back into sleep when he heard a small noise, possibly the same noise that had woken him up in the first place. He rolled over and noticed that the charcoal brazier that he kept by his bed to warm him on winter nights was out and he cursed whichever student of his forgot to refill it that afternoon.

He sat up and tested to make sure; putting his hand up against the bronze container. Feeling nothing but cold metal he cast off his sheets and slipped his feet into his slippers. It was dark by his bed, but the open window cast a perfect rectangle of light from the full moon onto the matted floor. He picked up the brazier and began walking towards the door, the bronze chain jangling against his leg. As he stepped into the square of moonlight there was another metallic sound in the room and suddenly the glint of moonlight off of steel was in his face as the tip of a katana blade pressed into his neck. Chiro froze, rigid, back arched as the point of the sword pressed into his skin. He tried to relax but he felt the rasp of metal against his neck and a small trickle of warm blood began to flow down to his collar bone and he forced himself to stay even more still. “You can take anything you want,” Chiro said, “just please-”

“You lied,” a voice from the darkness behind the blade said.

“I…what?”

“Five months ago. You lied and said that master Ichiro had committed an act of unforgivable rudeness to the emperor while you were entertaining him and Akira. You lied.”

“I did no such thing. What right do you have to come in here and-”

“You lied!” Kyo roared and stepped into the moonlight, his face terrifying in anger. He removed the sword from Chiro’s neck and moved in close, gripping the monk’s neck and pressing against it with a smaller dagger. “You lied and now you will pay for that mistake.”

“I am a monk of the-”

“You are a disgrace to these robes.” Kyo dragged the dagger down Chiro’s chest and slit his silk robes in two or three places, cutting the skin as he did so, and Chiro felt the cold winter air blowing across the blood on his now naked skin and began to tremble. “And you are no monk,” Kyo said, his face up close to Chiro, his hard eyes glaring. There was a moment, a pause, a hesitation, as the only sound to be heard was Chiro breathing fast and heavy. Then he gagged as Kyo slid his dagger into his throat, cutting quickly so the monk wouldn’t have time to make any noise before he died.

Kyo let the body drop and wiped his dagger off on the monk’s bed sheets. He stared down at the corpse sprawled out in the moonlight. At the end something had gone wrong. Something deep inside Kyo had shifted. Something had slipped out of his grasp as he had stood here inside a monastery and had the audacity to lecture a monk on what was right. Kyo assumed it was his body reacting to finally being able to act after five months of playing the part of a disgraced ronin and he forced himself to stop thinking about it and instead began to ransack the monk’s room.

The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that a bandit had robbed the mountain monastery and that Chiro Takase had been killed. Everyone was shocked.

Akira doubled his guards.

“There we go,” Gregor said, sitting down with a fresh mug of coffee. Nyx took the fourth seat at the table. Her purple lined eyes were bright as she stared at Kyo, and her mouth was constantly in motion as she worked something over with her tongue, a cough drop or a piece of hard candy, occasionally clamping it between her back teeth to suck at it lovingly. Hector opted to deal another round of cards, this time giving a hand to Nyx and Gregor as well.

“Can we get started?” Kyo asked.

Gregor put his mug down, sloshing a little coffee over onto his hand. He wiped his hand on his pants and picked up his cards. “Well,” he said, rearranging his hand, “there’s really nothing to get started. I just wanted to have a chat with you. Just sit down and talk with you again. It’s been awhile,” he smiled at Kyo then discarded.

“Well then let’s talk,” Kyo said, “and get this over with.”

“We were just talking earlier,” Hector said, his voice brash and obviously aimed once again at getting some sort of reaction out of Kyo. “We had a lovely little talk about Kyo’s past, isn’t that right?”

“I don’t remember saying much,” Kyo said.

Nyx laughed, her voice ranging up and down in tone like a melody gone wild as Hector shifted uncomfortably and accidentally bumped the table, sloshing more of Gregor’s coffee out of his mug.

“Shit,” Gregor said jumping back, trying to avoid getting his pants soaked while Nyx continued laughing.

The bar fight in the second year was when Kyo had started to worry. There was laughter and rice wine spilled all over him as a few drunken samurai had singled him out for abuse. It was not the first time this had happened. As a ronin he was despised by most samurai and he noticed that even some villagers were less than respectful to him. Granted, villagers were not bound by custom to show any reverence to a ronin but plain common sense should apply. Kyo still carried his swords with him.

But the samurai in the bar didn’t care about this. It had been two years since Akira had folded these lands into his own and the samurai who served him were completely in his control. Ichiro was all but forgotten and Kyo’s existence was never equated with the warrior he had once been. He was viewed as a joke, his swords were considered ornament. And so there had been laughter in the bar and sake sloshed out of cups and onto the floor as the samurai roughed Kyo up. And none of it was very new. Kyo had allowed this kind of thing to happen a few times before, only this time when he was thrown out of the bar and into the muddy street he didn’t pretend to lose his balance and fall. Instead he really did lose his balance and fall, his wrist twanging with pain as he landed on it hard as some mud landed in his mouth from where his body splattered down. And there was no cloak, no shield, none of the usual feeling he had when these altercations occurred, the notion that it was going to be okay, that if he could persevere then they all would know the truth soon enough. Instead he just felt pain in his wrist and heard laughter all around him and tasted gritty mud in his mouth and the sake he had taken to drinking more often recently clouded his head and made the laughter seem to be coming from everywhere. He got to his feet and began walking, then felt one last kick to the back of his legs that sent him sprawling again onto the side of the road.

This time he sat for awhile, not noticing the stink on him, before he caught his breath and stood up. He walked slowly, rotating his wrist in circles as he went, trying to test to see how much it hurt.

There was a crowd in Noboru’s hut. More samurai. Kyo sat outside and waited, falling into a doze as his body worked through the sake he had drunk. He woke up, gurgling and gasping, when Noboru sloshed a bucket of cold water onto him. By the time he realized what had happened another bucket of water hit him and he stood up wiping the water out of his eyes.

“You stink,” Noboru said, the evening light casting shadows on the road.

Kyo only nodded. “Can you draw me another bucket?”

Noboru walked off, then returned a few minutes later and laid the bucket at Kyo’s feet. Kyo rinsed as much of the mud off of him as was possible then stood up and started to walk inside. “You still stink,” Noboru said. Kyo stopped, held up his hands as if unsure of what else he could do. Noboru sighed and waved him inside.

Kyo leaned wearily against the bar. Noboru laid out a mat. “Sake first, please,” Kyo said. Noboru very deliberately finished making the piece of sushi he was working on, then brought out a porcelain cup and poured Kyo a cup of rice wine.

“You get into another fight?” Noboru asked.

Kyo nodded.

“Kyo, what are you doing to yourself?”

Kyo tilted his head back and threw the sake down his throat. “It’s just an act, Noboru. You know that.” Noboru heard the underlying statement as well. Noboru was the only person who knew that. “Soon enough this will be done and people will know. It won’t be much longer.”

“It’s been over two years, Kyo,” Noboru said softly, relenting in his attitude and going back to crafting something for Kyo to eat. “Your son has earned a sword of his own. And your wife,” Noboru pointed off into the distance to emphasize his point. “Your wife has moved to a different province. ”

“I know,” Kyo said. “I know. But next week, the samurai dies.”

Noboru looked at Kyo, at the mud still clinging to the edges of his robes and the red seeping into his eyes and the rough stubble that was sprouting from his chin. He agreed with Kyo, but was surprised to find how much of him was doing so in a patronizing manner. “If you say so. How?”

“Date Masamune has taken to riding alone once or twice a week through the forests in the western part of the domain.”

“And?”

“If he is alone, that will be enough,” Kyo said, staring determinedly down into his empty sake cup. “I will need a horse, though.”

“I’ve got one you can borrow.”

Kyo shook his head. “I’m quite capable of stealing a horse for myself, thank you. A ronin has to learn how to fend for himself from what is-”

“But you’re not really a ronin, Kyo.” Noboru was appalled at the words coming out of his friend’s mouth. From the look on Kyo’s face it seemed as if Noboru had physically struck him.

Kyo rolled the empty sake cup a few times in his hand until he had shaken off what Noboru had said. “Was joking,” he said through a baffling set of emotions, “of course. Borrowing one of your horses is out of the question as is anything that could lead any one to suspect you were in any way involved in this act.”

“So…are you going to really steal a horse from-”

“No!” Kyo yelled, hurt and angry, his hand banging down on the bar hard enough to make his woven mat full of sushi pieces jump in the air. He shook his hand in the air and flexed his fingers. “Of course I’m not going to steal a horse. I’ll return what I take or compensate the owner fully.”

“Of course,” Noboru said. “Of course.”

Date Masamune enjoyed his weekly ride through the forest, especially now that spring was coming and the flowers were starting to bud. The stillness of the forest seemed comforting to him and it was pleasant to be away from all the demands of his inferiors and all the stress of his superiors and just ride. Plus he knew he was a handsome sight, up on horseback, his hand crafted armor shining in the sun. He knew this impressed the people when he rode through town.

The sun was getting low and he was contemplating turning around and heading back. He reined in his horse and turned her around in a tight circle, her nose brushing close to the trunk of a thick tree when he felt something sing through the air next to his face and heard a vibrous thunk. He swatted at his cheek, assuming it was a bug, and turned his head to see what the sound had been and then his horse began skitting sideways and he managed to get her under control as he stared at the arrow buried in the tree trunk.

“Dismount,” a voice behind him said. “You fight me to the death today.”

Date slowly turned around and saw a bedraggled man, who was familiar in some far off way, standing on a rise behind him. The man was armed with a bow and carried the two swords of a samurai.

“Dismount,” the man said again.

Date nodded, began to slowly raise one leg over his saddle, then kicked hard and yanked his horse’s reigns, taking off through the forest in a thunderous gallop.

Kyo’s eyes narrowed. His legs widened their stance. His hands moved. An arrow was notched, aimed and fired before he took his next breath.

He lowered his bow and began walking. He came upon the horse first, the arrow in her haunch deep and the blood red and mixing with the dark forest earth. He continued walking, shaking his head as he heard the lame horse whinny behind him. He stood over Date.

“I said to dismount,” Kyo said as Date crawled along through the green sprouts of spring, dragging a broken leg behind him. “I said we would fight with honor,” Kyo said, and the horse let out another loud whinny of pain. Date continued dragging himself forward.

“If you won’t fight with honor,” Kyo said, his growing impatience making his words harsh and trembling, “then at least die with honor.”

Date didn’t respond, didn’t look back, only continued to try to crawl away, his hand crafted armor dragging pieces of branches and clots of mud along with it. “I said die with honor!” Kyo yelled, infuriated now, and he reached a hand down and grabbed Date by the shoulder, rolling him over and sitting him up as Date screamed in pain, then screamed in fear, then began sobbing.

“No,” Date said, hands in front of him to ward Kyo off, and his sobbing increased. “No, I’ll do anything you want,” he said, spit and snot smearing on his face as he begged. “Anything you-”

“Die with honor!” Kyo roared, shoving Date back onto the ground, where he collapsed in a shuddering heap. Kyo’s anger fumed up in his throat and he found he couldn’t talk, only kick and kick and kick as Date shrieked and then Kyo was kneeling on his chest and cutting his throat before stumbling off to sit with his back up against a tree a few feet away.

A few minutes later Kyo caught his breath and stared at the body of Date Masamune. He found he could only glance at it for a few seconds before he had to turn away. He realized he had forgotten to even mention who he was. His wrist still hurt. His head was roaring. He cleaned his weapons and backtracked to find where he had hidden his horse along the trail.

The next day word spread quickly through the neighboring towns that Date Masamune had been killed in the woods in the west of the domain. Everyone was shocked. People began to whisper.

Akira ordered his palace fortified.

Gregor made a last attempt to wipe more of the coffee off of his pants. “Well,” he said. “I guess these pants are ruined.”

“Sorry bout that boss,” Hector said.

Nyx sucked on her cough drop.

“Can we get on with it?” Kyo asked.

“Of course,” Gregor said, dabbing a few more times with the rough brown paper towels he had found by the sink. “Will you two excuse us?” He balled up the paper towel and threw it in the trash as Nyx and Hector stood up and left. “I was hoping to get a chance to visit with you a bit,” Gregor said, sitting down again at the table, “but I can see you’re a busy man so I won’t keep you any longer than I need to.”

Kyo drummed his fingers on the table top.

“I don’t suppose it’s any secret to you that I don’t exactly see eye to eye with Epp,” Gregor said.

“You’re not working on another trial, are you? Because that struck me as one of the larger wastes of time I’ve had in awhile.”

“No, no,” Gregor shook his head. “Nothing at all like that. And the trial wasn’t…I was just testing the water there, you could say. Wanted to see what side of the room people sat on. That sort of thing. But what I’m planning now, well, it’s a little different. Now normally I wouldn’t bother you with any of this but you have a….a strange role in all of this.”

“I worry you,” Kyo said.

“It’s not that you worry me. You make me sound so sinister,” Gregor laughed. “No, it’s just that you’re such an unknown, Kyo. One never knows what you’re going to be doing or really, even, what it is that you can do.”

Kyo stared at Gregor and waited to see if he would say anything more. When nothing more came he drummed his fingers over the table top and turned away. “Why is it when I ask people to come to the point, they invariably become more obtuse and vague?”

Rather than let himself be rebuked, Gregor answered back in turn. “Because you’re a keeper of secrets, Kyo. Everyone who knows anything is going to want to pry your little mysteries out of you. You should have learned that by now. If you act mysterious, people are going to respond with curiosity.”

“It’s not an act.”

Gregor rolled his eyes and sighed.

Kyo’s jaw tightened.

Noboru shook his head.

“Just let me in,” Kyo said.

It was night and Kyo had stumbled his way to Noboru’s shack after being kicked out of the last tavern.

Four more years had passed and Kyo’s name had become lost to anyone of import. Noboru sighed again, then stepped aside and let Kyo stagger his way inside.

Noboru started to unroll a mat but Kyo waved it away. “Just bring out the bottle of sake,” he said gruffly.

Noboru did as he was told, then stepped back and looked with distaste at Kyo, who was sloshing a large gulp of sake around in his mouth before swallowing. When he was done Kyo turned and looked at Noboru, chin pressed in close to his shoulder, a wavering smile on his face. “Eh?” Kyo grunted.

Noboru had no idea what was being asked.

“I think,” Noboru said carefully, “that maybe it is time that this ended. Or at the very least, that you should not come around here anymore.”

Kyo sucked something from between his teeth, then turned back to the bottle and took another long pull.

“You have become an utter wreck of-”

“I’m almost done,” Kyo said quietly, not meeting Noboru’s stare.

“Almost done? Your master was killed almost seven years ago, Kyo. This is no longer anywhere within the bounds of sanity. Everything has moved on. Everything. Your wife no longer lives here. Your son I have lost track of. This isn’t even my main shop anymore, I’ve moved to a larger location. This is mostly just storage for me. I am beginning to believe that there is no honor in what you’re doing. It would have been more honorable to charge at your enemies instantly upon learning of your master’s death and have fallen in battle that way. I mean what if you had become ill and died? What if one of them had become ill? There would have been no way to prove that you were taking the honorable course rather than drinking yourself into a pickle.”

Kyo looked up, scared. “This is just an act, Noboru,” although his hand never left the bottle.

“An act?” Noboru shouted. “An act? No act lasts this long, Kyokutei. Just how many different lives do you think you’re allowed to lead? You have become what you pretend to be.”

Noboru watched and noted with pain that Kyo did not deny this last statement. He only stared down at the bar and held the bottle next to him. “Akira has ordered his number of guards drastically reduced,” Kyo said softly. “This month the lord dies.”

“You know you can’t survive.”

“I’ve been dead for six years,” Kyo said quietly. “Death was the only way out, it was just a matter of how. Once I finish what I started, I’ll do the honorable thing. I won’t wait for the Emperor to judge me; I won’t wait for the town to hear. I will either die trying or die right there in Akira’s palace by my own hand.”

“I will pray that you die honorably,” Noboru said, “and that you still have a spirit left to save.”

Kyo didn’t say goodbye, he only walked off into the cold winter night with the sake bottle still in his hands.

Later that month the snows came in thick and deafening, their white blanket covering the entire land over the course of one night.

The courtyard of Akira’s palace was obliterated in white and as Kyo dropped from the wall he landed with a soft thud, dipping down to one knee, his body tense, one hand buried in the snow supported on strong flexed fingers, ears open to hear if anyone was coming. He heard only the wind. He felt the icy burn of the snow against his hand and savored it. He felt the numbing wet of the snow against his knee and he smiled. If he were capable of controlling the weather he couldn’t have planned a better night. Thick snowfall made everything seem as if it were moving even when it wasn’t, it made sounds difficult to hear and easy to dismiss, and it made guards stay in by the fire, neglecting their rounds and growing sleepy.

He had killed two by the rear wall before making his way over, but he didn’t expect any more interference until he reached the bedroom of Akira himself.

He forced himself to wait a few minutes longer, to make sure he heard nothing else moving, then he took his frozen hand out of the snow and tucked it into his robe, feeling it come back to life as he crept forward through the courtyard.

He met no one as he stepped inside the palace hall.

Outside the snow began to peter out and breaks started appearing in the clouds.

His luck held as he made his way through the palace and he came across no more guards even as he walked quietly down the hallway towards Akira’s bedroom. He took a grip on the door, knowing that he would have to be quick, and took a short series of fast breaths before sliding the door back with a hard shove and leaping into the room. There were two guards on either side, one of which fell instantly under Kyo’s sword. The other was young and inexperienced and in the darkness Kyo quickly dispatched him as well, his sword sliding cleanly into his stomach before he pulled back and strode over to Akira’s bed.

The lord was cowering beneath his bed sheets, scrambling to retreat as much as he could, if only a few more inches towards the head of the bed. An alarm gong sat a few feet away, forgotten and unused in Akira’s fright. Kyo had assumed that he would get one chance at Akira before being cut down by the guards that would be inevitably summoned, even in this small provincial palace, but no alarm had been sounded and he found himself with no need to hurry.

Fragile gray light was starting to spread in the sky and Kyo stared at Akira, scrawny in nothing but his sleeping gown. Kyo was surprised to find that he had nothing to say, no act to perform, and that he was tired. He stepped forward, drawing his sword, and finished his job.

When it was done he carried Akira’s head along with him and returned to the hallway. As he passed the guards on the floor one of them gasped and attempted to move. In the morning light Kyo looked down and saw how bad the wound was, his eyes scanned all over the body but he took little notice of anything, instead, suddenly drowsy, he continued on, Akira’s head at his side.

It was bright out when he entered the courtyard again and the white snow was blinding. He placed Akira’s head on the ground then knelt in the snow and prepared to end his life as well as he could. He hoped to bring some small amount of honor back to his family by doing so.

He would have no second to finish the job if he wavered. He would have nothing but himself. Most of the samurai he had known had refused to think much about this act, some had been terrified of it, some had opted to deal with it by never thinking about it. Kyo had always gone through life with a blundering determination and had taken the time to speak with a doctor on the subject. He knew that earliest possible release for him would be to pass out from blood loss after the initial cut, but that the highest possible honor he could gain for his lord and family would be to make it through a second cut, maybe a third, before dying.

He removed his smaller dagger from its sheath and held the point against his stomach. He said a prayer for his lord, his wife and his son. Then he took a deep breath, wished for the salvation of his own spirit, and drove the point of his dagger up into his body.

Then everything went wrong.

“It’s all right, I guess,” Gregor said. “You don’t have to answer the question.”

“I’m really not sure I can,” Kyo answered. “Although I’ll be honest, I’m not sure I would if I could.”

Gregor smiled. “I know. Being an unknown can be an advantage sometimes. Although, rumor has it that Epp was there right at the moment you became one of us.” Gregor was staring at Kyo, then he closed his eyes and shook his head, correcting himself. “No, wait, what am I saying? You never became one of us. You became…well you became whatever you are, I suppose, and rumor has it that Epp was there at the moment that that happened.”

“I’m the same as you,” Kyo said. “I’m just completely different.”

“Regardless, it’s this strange relationship you have with Epp that worries me.”

“We do go way back, him and I.”

“Yes. Yes you do, and although you’re happy to throw obstacles in his way that you come up with, I’m wondering what would happen if someone else were to come up with something that might challenge Epp. I’m wondering, you know, how you might react.”

“You all have to do what it is that you do. Whatever interactions you’re planning on having with Epp, I’m not going to go out of my way to interfere, unless you involve me directly, of course. But I don’t owe Epp anything. I don’t owe anyone anything. That much I made clear right from the start.”

“Right,” Gregor said, his curiosity once again overriding the direction he wanted the conversation to take. “What was it that happened there, at the start, as you put it?”

Kyo only looked down at the table.

Kyo was shocked at the pain, at the feeling in his hands, at the amount of steam that was boiling up from his body as he opened it up with his dagger, and then the blur of the last few hours came sharp upon his mind and he cried out.

Six thousand miles away, Epp stopped talking in the middle of the conversation he was having with a new tester beneath the city wall of Rome.

“Did you hear that?” Epp asked.

The other tester shook his head, confused, and then tried to restart the conversation. Epp held up a finger for silence.

A moment later there was another cry as Kyo pulled the blade further across his stomach and remembered the young guard he had left dying a few minutes ago up in Akira’s bedroom, and how his eyes had looked blankly over the guard’s body in the gray light of dawn, and how he had registered that the wound he had dealt was fatal and then continued on. But as Kyo knelt in the courtyard everything else he had seen finally became clear in his head and he cried out again as, a few yards away on the floor of Akira’s bedroom, Kyo’s son took his last breath.

“What is it?” the new tester asked Epp, who had dropped to his knees and covered his ears with his hands.

Epp looked up, bewildered. “You don’t hear that?” Epp cried out. The young tester shook his head again and began to grow nervous.

In the courtyard Kyokutei’s mind was a mess as he started to fade, forgetting about any chance of saving his own spirit he only begged over and over again that his son could somehow be saved, even if it meant his own disgrace. Then he died.

Then he stood up.

A man with blacker skin than he had ever seen and wearing some sort of leather jerkin was standing in front of him.

“My name is Epp,” the black man said. “What on earth did you just do?”

Kyo turned and looked down at his own body lying in a swatch of red snow. “Am I dead?” he asked.

“I think we had better talk,” the black man said.

“If you say so,” Kyo said, deferentially, assuming this man to be a god.

“I do.”

“My son,” Kyo said, and turned to run back inside.

Epp didn’t follow, knowing from experience that it was impossible to protect his kind from certain pains. Instead he stood in the snow and looked down at Kyo’s body, then looked up to see Kyo running across the snow covered courtyard. Epp’s eyes grew puzzled and he shook his head. “What are you?” he asked as the samurai’s back disappeared into the palace.

It was hours before Epp was able to calm Kyo down. Then it was hours more before either one of them could make much sense of what had happened. They were standing in a frozen field. The snowfall had only accumulated a dusty half inch, the rest having been blown off by the wind. It was almost dark again and Epp was peering back over his shoulder.

“Are you still all right?” Kyo asked.

“I believe so,” Epp said, squinting off into the horizon, “I can still see home.”

“And when do I get to return home?” Kyo asked.

Epp sighed and ran a hand over his face. “I’ve tried to explain to you, you don’t go home. Not ever again.”

“So I am dead,” Kyo said, “and soon to be reunited with my lord and ancestors.”

“No,” Epp answered. “No that isn’t it either. I am trying to explain this but even I don’t quite understand it. I’m sorry for that. Usually you get a decade or more to make your choices, but you…” Epp faltered, baffled again at the conclusion he had reached, “you somehow…you were your own first choice, and you chose to protect yourself by dying at the exact same moment that your son was dying, who was your second choice,” Kyo wasn’t listening anymore and Epp didn’t blame him as he continued on just once again trying to get a handle on it himself, “and it all must have happened in the space of a single heart beat. I mean the chances of that…for that to have happened…” Epp trailed off then once again dredged up the only solid piece of information he had, which was also the most amazing part of all of this in his mind. “I heard you all the way in Rome!” Epp shouted, pointing off into the horizon despite knowing from previous attempts throughout the day that the concept of Rome was not about to sink into Kyo’s head. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“But I’m done now and I would like to rest.”

“You can’t go home now, Kyo. You flew through all the barriers and tests and landed, in the space of a heartbeat, in the role of a tester. I keep trying to tell you, you serve all of humanity now.”

“No,” Kyo said softly, sitting on the ground. “I am through serving.”

“That’s not a choice you can make anymore. You, somehow, already made it. You now serve-”

“NO!” Kyo screamed and Epp stumbled backwards in fear the man’s roar was so loud. “No more masters,” Kyo screamed again, standing up. “No more serving,” he yelled, only this time his voice cracked and became hoarse and his foot landed funny on a frozen rut of dirt so he fell to his knees almost immediately. “No more serving,” Kyo said, his voice back under control as he looked up at Epp, pleading.

“I honestly can not say what would happen if you refused to ever push,” Epp said. “I really can’t. Most testers who don’t push, they begin to fade away.”

“Like death?” Kyo asked.

“I suppose, yes. It’s a type of death.”

“Then that’s what I’ll do.”

“I’m not sure what…I really don’t know what to do here,” Epp said, and then he swore as he looked back at the horizon. “I don’t even know where I am and if I don’t get back soon I won’t be getting back until your people discover my people…or the other way around.” He turned back to Kyo. “Someone will find you. Do you understand? There have to be other testers in this land. Someone will find you. You are not alone. Until then,” he sighed, “I’d give you some advice if I had some but I don’t. Or if you want to you can come back to Rome with me. At least you’d be sure to be amongst your kind and I’d be there. It might be nice to know that at least one other-”

“I can get to where you’re from,” Kyo said, still kneeling in the dirt.

“No, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can,” Kyo said, staring off at the horizon. “I can see where you came from.” It was the first action Kyo had taken since his death that in any way indicated to him that what Epp had told him was real, that he wasn’t human anymore. In some strange way he was actually able to see the path Epp had taken to get here.

“But that’s impossible. I can barely even see where I came-”

“I can see,” Kyo interrupted. “You can leave now. I have family to look after.”

“I need to start moving,” Epp said. “Or I’m going to be here permanently.”

“I know. Go. I’ll be able to find you again.” Kyo tilted his head as he looked west, and was again amazed to see that Epp’s trail was so clear to him. “Go.”

Epp hesitated. “I try to welcome those I can into this world as gently as possible,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do the same for you, Kyokutei.”

“Thank you, Epictetus. The sentiment is enough.”

“Not hardly,” Epp said, then turned to the horizon, wavered, and disappeared.

“Again,” Kyo said, “I’m not going to answer that.”

“I know,” Gregor said. “But you have to understand that it’s fun to try and piece you together.”

“Actually it is no fun at all. I’ve been trying for centuries.” Kyo stood up and brushed his hand against his suit jacket before extending it to Gregor. “I have no reason to interfere in anything you might be planning as long as it doesn’t interfere with me.”

Gregor stood up and took Kyo’s hand. “Great,” he said, smiling.

“One word though,” Kyo said, dropping the handshake. “I don’t like you very much, although I like very few testers so you shouldn’t take that personally. But I do think you are talented, so if you think you have found something that will be able to pose a challenge to Epp, I believe you. On the other hand, I’m not sure how smart you are, so I will tell you to think twice about messing about with it, whatever it is. Anything that could even begin to pose a challenge to Epp will be something that you yourself will have difficulty controlling.”

Gregor opened his mouth a few times as Kyo spoke to begin replying but Kyo talked through him, then turned and walked out of the room before anything was said.

Gregor watched him go. “God forbid you just answer a couple of questions,” he said to himself, watching Kyo walk down the hallway. “Still,” he perked up, “neutral is neutral I suppose. And once Epp is gone…” He smiled. Then he turned and began to make up a cup of coffee that he might finally be able to finish.

Out in the hallway Kyo gave a curt nod to Hector, who grinned at him, and a nod to Nyx, who bounced up and down on the balls of her feet with giddy energy as Kyo walked back out into the restaurant. Nyx took a long, slurping suck on the object in her mouth, enjoying its taste so much she didn’t notice Hector glaring at her until he cleared his throat and she froze, like a student caught chewing gum.

Hector held a cupped palm up in front of her mouth and she obligingly slid the object out between her lips and into his hand. Hector held it up to the light, turned it around a few times, then stared angrily at Nyx.

“What?” she asked. “I stopped off for some Chinese before I came here.”

Hector handed the finger bone back to her; she popped it into her mouth and resumed sucking.

“Hey,” she said, elbowing Hector in the side as she turned around and looked through the office door at Gregor stirring sugar into his coffee. “What do you think he tastes like?”

Hector’s lips curled up slightly at the corners of his mouth in an uncontrollable boyish grin. “Lack of foresight,” he answered.

Nyx giggled with her mouth open.

—–