Re: L5R - The Duty of War - A Post Winter Court 5 story
Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 7:28 pm
Spring went into summer without any word, even from the letters and dispatches Harun got. Harun tried not to worry, tell himself it might take a long time for Arahime to leave the jungle, and longer still for word to reach Rokugan from Zogeku, but it was difficult.
One afternoon, one of the bushi came back from a patrol in the mountains with a report that disturbing Harun had to see for himself. He rode off on his horse, into the mountains to one of the few hamlets…and he could see the columns of smoke before he saw it.
Every house had been burned to the ground, the fires were almost out but the damage had been done. There was debris everywhere, as if they had been looted. But in the middle of the houses was the most horrifying sight of all: the bodies of the villagers. They lay in a heap on the ground, men, women, children, the elderly…each of them had their throat cut, each of them imprinted a black handprint. The mark of the Black Hand, the fanatics that followed his mother Yamada and the Obsidian Hand himself Shiba Michio.
He turned to Kitano. “Gunso, is there any trace of those who did this?”
“Not yet Chui, we are searching nearby,” Kitano answered. “But in the mountains it is a little harder to track.”
Harun nodded. The Black Hand were known to strike from the dark and return to it, leaving no trace for anyone to follow. “Whoever did this can’t be far,” said Harun. “Let’s burn the bodies, give them the mercy they were denied.”
He watched the flames consume them, was this the work of his mother? Would the Black Hand strike again? He didn’t like the answers to those questions.
Back at Seawatch, Harun increased the patrols and kept everyone on high alert. They could find no trace of the Black Hand, so they spread the net even wider.
Then one evening, Kitano returned from a patrol. He came to Harun and said he had a prisoner.
“A woman surrendered to us, a ronin I think. But she will only speak to you, Chui,” the Gunso said. “She gave me this.”
He handed Harun a chop, Harun examined it. It took all his concentration to not gape. He knew this chop, it was all over the correspondence in the chest in his room. It was his mother Yamada’s.
She’s here…my mother…
“Take her to my quarters,” said Harun, managing to keep his voice even. “I will question her myself.”
He went to his room, waiting when the bushi arrived with her. His mother…whom he had never truly met before. The bushi handed her swords to Harun. They looked old, as if they had not been hers to begin with, banded with purple silk. The tsubas were decorated by a herd of running horses. The daisho of an Utaku Battlemaiden.
“Leave us,” Harun said, his voice like ice. “I will call if I need you.”
The bushi left wordlessly.
Harun took a long look at her, this woman, his mother, whom he had heard so much about and didn’t really know. She was tall, her hair long and dark and caught in a fox tail. She wore a completely black kimono with a purple obi tied simply. Her face was cool and calm, impenetrable and seemingly unaffected by emotion.
Harun felt as if he had waited for most of his life more this moment, when he would be faced with his real mother whom he could get the answers he needed. Karasu, Hitomi, Zetsubou and others had told him the truth but now he could see for himself.
But he never thought he would feel like this, at least not until recently knowing what he now knew about her. Knowing what she had done. Harun felt horribly cool, and yet hated himself for it. This was his mother after all.
He looked her directly in the eyes. “Mother.”
“Harun, my son.” Yamada took a step towards him, Harun instantly drew back. She stared at him in shock. “What?”
“Why are you here?” Harun’s voice was cold, his eyes were colder.
Yamada took a deep breath. This young man, her only son, the image of her own father but for his eyes which were Nakura’s. But that was where the resemblance ended. She saw some of Karasu in him, his implacability and how he used his words and demeanour like a weapon. But she also saw something of herself in him, that fire, the energy that could never be quenched, that rage that could be so easily roused.
Two mothers, two fathers…he’s all of them and still himself…
She had dreamed of this for so long, at last coming face to face with her son, the last legacy she had of her fleeting marriage to his father Nakura. All she wanted to do was take him in her arms. Ask him about himself, his life, his hopes and dreams. It looked like this was not going to happen.
“Harun, you have every right to demand answers for me for what I have done, and what I have done to you,” she said. “I will give them to you, anything you ask. As for why I am here, well…I came to see you.”
Harun didn’t answer her, he just stood there, judging.
“I know about Toshi Ranbo,” she continued. “I know what you did, and why, and that is why I am here now.”
“I needed to answer for my actions,” Harun said. “I was wrong to do what I did.”
Yamada nodded in approval. “Karasu raised you well.”
“I could arrest you, you know,” said Harun. “We found the Black Hand’s work a few days ago, not far from here. I would have every right to hold you here and get the magistrates to inform my father.”
His father…That hurt a little, even if it did that happen to be true.
“But you haven’t,” Yamada pointed out. “The fact that we are here, alone, tells me that you won’t. Besides, what you saw wasn’t the work of the Black Hand. They were bandits, using it to just kill and terrorise.”
“And how do you know this?” Harun demanded.
“Because I killed them,” Yamada answered coldly. “As happens to all who use the banner of the Black Hand falsely.”
“And me?” Harun asked. “I know what you have done, Mother, all the deaths, the murders…the people you flayed alive. I know it was you who killed the Shogun mother. And you now you come here. Am I to be a victim of your judgement?”
“No,” said Yamada. “You have admitted your mistake and sought to atone for it. That makes you save from the Hand’s wrath, my son.”
“I feel so honoured,” said Harun bitterly. “To be spared by you, after all you have done, after all the people you have murdered And to be spared by Shiba Michio, the one who took you from me.”
“My son, you don’t understand what happened all those years ago. Why I gave you up—” Her voice caught in her throat. “I died that day, my life ended the day you were gone from me.”
“Then why?!? Why did you do it?” He threw the words at her like weapons, beating her down with his anger, his pain.
“To save others from this duty,” said Yamada. “A samurai’s life is sacrifice, you know this too. I did this so that no one else would have to. But there’s more, I wanted you to have the life your father and I could no longer give you, the one that we planned but was torn away forever when he was killed. Karasu could give you what I could not and protect you from harm.” She looked him up and down and gave a small smile. “And I when I look at you, my son, I cannot help be proud of you and the man you have become.”
Harun shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You talk about duty, what about yours to me? You gave me up! You left! That is not something that you can just wish away.”
Yamada nodded, his words cut sharper than any blade. “I won’t deny this,” she said. “But you must know we wanted to spare you from this. We inherited this world from our parents, their mistakes, their consequences. We have passed on our own for you, our children, to redeem, and that is the worst failure of all. I never wanted you to fight, Harun, I wanted you to live.”
“And yet here we are,” said Harun dryly.
Yamada closed her eyes, trying to not look disappointed. This was not what she had planned, but perhaps this was what she deserved. Her reasons for her actions did not change the fact that she had done them. And here she was, being called to account for the first time in many years, whose voice she could not possibly could not ignore.
She looked at her son, so like her, full of the fire that drove him to use his sword to fix things, burned with the realisation that it was sometimes best to keep it sheathed. There was nothing she could do, she couldn’t help him.
“Harun, there is nothing I can say to change the hurt that I have caused to you,” said Yamada. “I admit, I came to you tonight to seek your forgiveness, you have shown me why this is wrong.”
She went to leave, Harun gave her the swords but did not move. The bushi barred her way, Harun signalled for them to stand aside.
“Chui, should we follow?” Kitano asked.
Harun shook his head. “Let her go, the killings at the village were not her.”
Kitano looked at Harun in surprise. “How do you know this?”
“She told me,” said Harun. “And she is samurai.”
One afternoon, one of the bushi came back from a patrol in the mountains with a report that disturbing Harun had to see for himself. He rode off on his horse, into the mountains to one of the few hamlets…and he could see the columns of smoke before he saw it.
Every house had been burned to the ground, the fires were almost out but the damage had been done. There was debris everywhere, as if they had been looted. But in the middle of the houses was the most horrifying sight of all: the bodies of the villagers. They lay in a heap on the ground, men, women, children, the elderly…each of them had their throat cut, each of them imprinted a black handprint. The mark of the Black Hand, the fanatics that followed his mother Yamada and the Obsidian Hand himself Shiba Michio.
He turned to Kitano. “Gunso, is there any trace of those who did this?”
“Not yet Chui, we are searching nearby,” Kitano answered. “But in the mountains it is a little harder to track.”
Harun nodded. The Black Hand were known to strike from the dark and return to it, leaving no trace for anyone to follow. “Whoever did this can’t be far,” said Harun. “Let’s burn the bodies, give them the mercy they were denied.”
He watched the flames consume them, was this the work of his mother? Would the Black Hand strike again? He didn’t like the answers to those questions.
Back at Seawatch, Harun increased the patrols and kept everyone on high alert. They could find no trace of the Black Hand, so they spread the net even wider.
Then one evening, Kitano returned from a patrol. He came to Harun and said he had a prisoner.
“A woman surrendered to us, a ronin I think. But she will only speak to you, Chui,” the Gunso said. “She gave me this.”
He handed Harun a chop, Harun examined it. It took all his concentration to not gape. He knew this chop, it was all over the correspondence in the chest in his room. It was his mother Yamada’s.
She’s here…my mother…
“Take her to my quarters,” said Harun, managing to keep his voice even. “I will question her myself.”
He went to his room, waiting when the bushi arrived with her. His mother…whom he had never truly met before. The bushi handed her swords to Harun. They looked old, as if they had not been hers to begin with, banded with purple silk. The tsubas were decorated by a herd of running horses. The daisho of an Utaku Battlemaiden.
“Leave us,” Harun said, his voice like ice. “I will call if I need you.”
The bushi left wordlessly.
Harun took a long look at her, this woman, his mother, whom he had heard so much about and didn’t really know. She was tall, her hair long and dark and caught in a fox tail. She wore a completely black kimono with a purple obi tied simply. Her face was cool and calm, impenetrable and seemingly unaffected by emotion.
Harun felt as if he had waited for most of his life more this moment, when he would be faced with his real mother whom he could get the answers he needed. Karasu, Hitomi, Zetsubou and others had told him the truth but now he could see for himself.
But he never thought he would feel like this, at least not until recently knowing what he now knew about her. Knowing what she had done. Harun felt horribly cool, and yet hated himself for it. This was his mother after all.
He looked her directly in the eyes. “Mother.”
“Harun, my son.” Yamada took a step towards him, Harun instantly drew back. She stared at him in shock. “What?”
“Why are you here?” Harun’s voice was cold, his eyes were colder.
Yamada took a deep breath. This young man, her only son, the image of her own father but for his eyes which were Nakura’s. But that was where the resemblance ended. She saw some of Karasu in him, his implacability and how he used his words and demeanour like a weapon. But she also saw something of herself in him, that fire, the energy that could never be quenched, that rage that could be so easily roused.
Two mothers, two fathers…he’s all of them and still himself…
She had dreamed of this for so long, at last coming face to face with her son, the last legacy she had of her fleeting marriage to his father Nakura. All she wanted to do was take him in her arms. Ask him about himself, his life, his hopes and dreams. It looked like this was not going to happen.
“Harun, you have every right to demand answers for me for what I have done, and what I have done to you,” she said. “I will give them to you, anything you ask. As for why I am here, well…I came to see you.”
Harun didn’t answer her, he just stood there, judging.
“I know about Toshi Ranbo,” she continued. “I know what you did, and why, and that is why I am here now.”
“I needed to answer for my actions,” Harun said. “I was wrong to do what I did.”
Yamada nodded in approval. “Karasu raised you well.”
“I could arrest you, you know,” said Harun. “We found the Black Hand’s work a few days ago, not far from here. I would have every right to hold you here and get the magistrates to inform my father.”
His father…That hurt a little, even if it did that happen to be true.
“But you haven’t,” Yamada pointed out. “The fact that we are here, alone, tells me that you won’t. Besides, what you saw wasn’t the work of the Black Hand. They were bandits, using it to just kill and terrorise.”
“And how do you know this?” Harun demanded.
“Because I killed them,” Yamada answered coldly. “As happens to all who use the banner of the Black Hand falsely.”
“And me?” Harun asked. “I know what you have done, Mother, all the deaths, the murders…the people you flayed alive. I know it was you who killed the Shogun mother. And you now you come here. Am I to be a victim of your judgement?”
“No,” said Yamada. “You have admitted your mistake and sought to atone for it. That makes you save from the Hand’s wrath, my son.”
“I feel so honoured,” said Harun bitterly. “To be spared by you, after all you have done, after all the people you have murdered And to be spared by Shiba Michio, the one who took you from me.”
“My son, you don’t understand what happened all those years ago. Why I gave you up—” Her voice caught in her throat. “I died that day, my life ended the day you were gone from me.”
“Then why?!? Why did you do it?” He threw the words at her like weapons, beating her down with his anger, his pain.
“To save others from this duty,” said Yamada. “A samurai’s life is sacrifice, you know this too. I did this so that no one else would have to. But there’s more, I wanted you to have the life your father and I could no longer give you, the one that we planned but was torn away forever when he was killed. Karasu could give you what I could not and protect you from harm.” She looked him up and down and gave a small smile. “And I when I look at you, my son, I cannot help be proud of you and the man you have become.”
Harun shook his head. “You don’t get it, do you? You talk about duty, what about yours to me? You gave me up! You left! That is not something that you can just wish away.”
Yamada nodded, his words cut sharper than any blade. “I won’t deny this,” she said. “But you must know we wanted to spare you from this. We inherited this world from our parents, their mistakes, their consequences. We have passed on our own for you, our children, to redeem, and that is the worst failure of all. I never wanted you to fight, Harun, I wanted you to live.”
“And yet here we are,” said Harun dryly.
Yamada closed her eyes, trying to not look disappointed. This was not what she had planned, but perhaps this was what she deserved. Her reasons for her actions did not change the fact that she had done them. And here she was, being called to account for the first time in many years, whose voice she could not possibly could not ignore.
She looked at her son, so like her, full of the fire that drove him to use his sword to fix things, burned with the realisation that it was sometimes best to keep it sheathed. There was nothing she could do, she couldn’t help him.
“Harun, there is nothing I can say to change the hurt that I have caused to you,” said Yamada. “I admit, I came to you tonight to seek your forgiveness, you have shown me why this is wrong.”
She went to leave, Harun gave her the swords but did not move. The bushi barred her way, Harun signalled for them to stand aside.
“Chui, should we follow?” Kitano asked.
Harun shook his head. “Let her go, the killings at the village were not her.”
Kitano looked at Harun in surprise. “How do you know this?”
“She told me,” said Harun. “And she is samurai.”