Post by Morito Asuka on Oct 8, 2011 21:43:52 GMT -5
The way was treacherous and winding. My legs burned with each deliberate step up the winding staircase that led to the shrine of the Ki-rin. I longed tobe in the saddle again, abut no horse could make it up the steep steps . That was why they could never equal a human. and why the Utaku stayed at the base to meditate over their exile. Too attached to their steed to dare the climb for something greater.
The wind was biting cold, promising a dusting of snow up in the crags. A sharp incline that required me to yank myself up by my arms ended in a resting ledge that offered a view of the Dragon Hear plain below, and I stopped to look at it. I could see my own home, Shiro Morito, new construction breathing a fresh life into the battlescarred, haunted plain. Hidden behind the edifice was the ruins of Shiro Chuda. From this angle alone it looked like good land. Good enough to occupy, good enough to defend. Was it any wonder the dragon and the phoenix both contested it?
Now we were there, and we were interested. No, there were other reasons. It was a matter of timing and delicacy. I had no idea what those other reasons were, but it wasn't really my place to ask lord Morito about them. . .yet.
All I know is what my father taught.The Kami are allies and enemies, the spirits are also, but never should we be ruled by them. The naga never were as much as the tales say, the nezumi care only for today, but why should humans be ruled? It was a puzzle, indeed. A puzzle he commanded that I keep to myself until I wished to know the answer and I was commanded to ask him before all others. To wander the lands and to learn what I could on my own before I asked him. That was the last lesson on the night before my gempuku.
And what of fate, and karma, honor and glory? What of the will of the heavens and the will of man? All of that was tied up with father's question. Up in the heights it was easy to let these thought swirl around. It gave me a buzzing headache, the kind that starts behind the forehead, and works its way into the ears. Was it any wonder the Dragon lived in the sword's edge of madness? It was a question for the rich Major clans to ponder, surrounded by art and history and lore. Why does the question come secretly to me, the youngest of the youngest and the least of the least of clan members?
I haven't answered it yet, and yet here I was on the way home, no closer to an answer or a decision than when I left, though I am a great deal more worldly-wise.
Up on the climb to the shrine things seemed clearer. Maybe it was the air, maybe the excursion, but things made more sense. So many things going on in the empire. So many grim faces I had seen, in the years of my bushi training, from the time that Hantei Naseru betrayed his sister's name and forsook the Toturi lineage.
What a blow it had been, that our beloved Toturi dynasty had been extinguished. it was the end of an era, and the Toturi line was like the cherry blossoms after a late frost. What do the spirits think? What do the men think? My father was never pleased with Naseru taking the Hantei name.
Hantei's name, Hantei's power, hantei's lineage. It did not matter that he had Toturi blood. Toturi had given us our lands, but at what price for our beloved clan founder now that the Toturi no longer sat on the throne? Morito's grim face had grown even more grim with the taking of the Hantei name by Naseru. Hantei the kami, Hantei the emperor, both so out of reach. War had not ended since the name of the kami had returned to the throne. To fight against the hantei would be war, but to fight for the hantei might mean something else. I am no prophet to know the future, but something seems wrong. That was what drove me up to the shrine. They say the Ki-rin could possibly clarify things, if only it would be glimpsed.
The last leg of the ki-rin shrine is always the hardest. The place was beautiful. Sometimes I wish my fingers could capture something like this the way the Crane artisans do. My fingers are meant for the sword and the rein. they are not delicate. They are not even Rokugani. Father will never tell me of my lineage, of what foreigners or barbarians muddled our line, never enough at any one time to lose our status as samurai, but too much to be anything but ronin. Only Morito saw my father as a valuable asset. Mom's Yasuki lineage and upbringing was clear enough, but it doesn't matter anymore. The clan of one's birth only matters when the right people choose it to matter.
The right people. . .I had come back earlier than expected. War has a bad habit of forcing people into safe places. When the clans war, the daimyos must decide, and though I have ridden long, I am not stupid enough to offer myself as a go chit to any other clan but my own. This war was bad already. Who would my lord choose to support? The hantei many of the men seem to resent, though secretly, as the Hantei did maintain status thatthe Toturi granted us, or are we to fight for the Toturi and risk our lands and our clan name.
Whether the men ruled over men, or whether the kami ruled, I had no say in the issue. Until we speak as equals with the Kami, we will be subject to their order. Maybe Morito could do it, a man so hard, deadly as steel was our daimyo, but would he let himself be broken over the Anvil or shaped by it? for surely he was now being worked.I had learned at least that much in my travels.
So I knealt, and I prayed. What did I pray for? What was there to pray for? there was nothing. Nothing that mattered at all. Nothing worth bothering the kami, or the spirits. If I lived or died it was at my lord's orders, if I was sick or well, at the whim of the spirits, if I was tainted or not at the will of the Kami, and none favored me in any direction.What was the worth of asking whether the kami should rule, or that men should rule themselves as all other races had ever done. Glory and honor or infamy alone could I influence for myself until perhaps one day I had the right patterns on the board to capture the answer.
So I sat and prayed nothing. the sun dipped behind the crags, and the air chilled deep and cold. I stood to go lay out my pack for the night. I would not be able to navigate the stairs in the darkness. Just as the last rays of the sun flashed behind the mountains, there it was. . .I think. Just a flash, maybe an illusion, a red and gold and blue beast. It made me stop and stare, but the light was gone, and so was the glimpse. tantalizing.
I set out my bed roll away from the shrine, back on the ledge I had pondered upon. What did it mean?
The wind was biting cold, promising a dusting of snow up in the crags. A sharp incline that required me to yank myself up by my arms ended in a resting ledge that offered a view of the Dragon Hear plain below, and I stopped to look at it. I could see my own home, Shiro Morito, new construction breathing a fresh life into the battlescarred, haunted plain. Hidden behind the edifice was the ruins of Shiro Chuda. From this angle alone it looked like good land. Good enough to occupy, good enough to defend. Was it any wonder the dragon and the phoenix both contested it?
Now we were there, and we were interested. No, there were other reasons. It was a matter of timing and delicacy. I had no idea what those other reasons were, but it wasn't really my place to ask lord Morito about them. . .yet.
All I know is what my father taught.The Kami are allies and enemies, the spirits are also, but never should we be ruled by them. The naga never were as much as the tales say, the nezumi care only for today, but why should humans be ruled? It was a puzzle, indeed. A puzzle he commanded that I keep to myself until I wished to know the answer and I was commanded to ask him before all others. To wander the lands and to learn what I could on my own before I asked him. That was the last lesson on the night before my gempuku.
And what of fate, and karma, honor and glory? What of the will of the heavens and the will of man? All of that was tied up with father's question. Up in the heights it was easy to let these thought swirl around. It gave me a buzzing headache, the kind that starts behind the forehead, and works its way into the ears. Was it any wonder the Dragon lived in the sword's edge of madness? It was a question for the rich Major clans to ponder, surrounded by art and history and lore. Why does the question come secretly to me, the youngest of the youngest and the least of the least of clan members?
I haven't answered it yet, and yet here I was on the way home, no closer to an answer or a decision than when I left, though I am a great deal more worldly-wise.
Up on the climb to the shrine things seemed clearer. Maybe it was the air, maybe the excursion, but things made more sense. So many things going on in the empire. So many grim faces I had seen, in the years of my bushi training, from the time that Hantei Naseru betrayed his sister's name and forsook the Toturi lineage.
What a blow it had been, that our beloved Toturi dynasty had been extinguished. it was the end of an era, and the Toturi line was like the cherry blossoms after a late frost. What do the spirits think? What do the men think? My father was never pleased with Naseru taking the Hantei name.
Hantei's name, Hantei's power, hantei's lineage. It did not matter that he had Toturi blood. Toturi had given us our lands, but at what price for our beloved clan founder now that the Toturi no longer sat on the throne? Morito's grim face had grown even more grim with the taking of the Hantei name by Naseru. Hantei the kami, Hantei the emperor, both so out of reach. War had not ended since the name of the kami had returned to the throne. To fight against the hantei would be war, but to fight for the hantei might mean something else. I am no prophet to know the future, but something seems wrong. That was what drove me up to the shrine. They say the Ki-rin could possibly clarify things, if only it would be glimpsed.
The last leg of the ki-rin shrine is always the hardest. The place was beautiful. Sometimes I wish my fingers could capture something like this the way the Crane artisans do. My fingers are meant for the sword and the rein. they are not delicate. They are not even Rokugani. Father will never tell me of my lineage, of what foreigners or barbarians muddled our line, never enough at any one time to lose our status as samurai, but too much to be anything but ronin. Only Morito saw my father as a valuable asset. Mom's Yasuki lineage and upbringing was clear enough, but it doesn't matter anymore. The clan of one's birth only matters when the right people choose it to matter.
The right people. . .I had come back earlier than expected. War has a bad habit of forcing people into safe places. When the clans war, the daimyos must decide, and though I have ridden long, I am not stupid enough to offer myself as a go chit to any other clan but my own. This war was bad already. Who would my lord choose to support? The hantei many of the men seem to resent, though secretly, as the Hantei did maintain status thatthe Toturi granted us, or are we to fight for the Toturi and risk our lands and our clan name.
Whether the men ruled over men, or whether the kami ruled, I had no say in the issue. Until we speak as equals with the Kami, we will be subject to their order. Maybe Morito could do it, a man so hard, deadly as steel was our daimyo, but would he let himself be broken over the Anvil or shaped by it? for surely he was now being worked.I had learned at least that much in my travels.
So I knealt, and I prayed. What did I pray for? What was there to pray for? there was nothing. Nothing that mattered at all. Nothing worth bothering the kami, or the spirits. If I lived or died it was at my lord's orders, if I was sick or well, at the whim of the spirits, if I was tainted or not at the will of the Kami, and none favored me in any direction.What was the worth of asking whether the kami should rule, or that men should rule themselves as all other races had ever done. Glory and honor or infamy alone could I influence for myself until perhaps one day I had the right patterns on the board to capture the answer.
So I sat and prayed nothing. the sun dipped behind the crags, and the air chilled deep and cold. I stood to go lay out my pack for the night. I would not be able to navigate the stairs in the darkness. Just as the last rays of the sun flashed behind the mountains, there it was. . .I think. Just a flash, maybe an illusion, a red and gold and blue beast. It made me stop and stare, but the light was gone, and so was the glimpse. tantalizing.
I set out my bed roll away from the shrine, back on the ledge I had pondered upon. What did it mean?