Legend of the Five Rings: 2019 Collected Stories by Compiled by Magic the Gathering

Author:Compiled by Magic the Gathering [Kreines, Compiled by J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

As his eyes traveled across the page, growing ever-wider, she continued in a low tone. “I found your brother in the garden just now. I interrupted his seppuku. In his haste to leave, he dropped this paper. I believe it was meant to be his death poem.”

At first, Daisetsu simply stared. Then slowly his fingers curled. The paper crumpled. His knuckles turned white.

Shahai was suddenly aware of her quickening heartbeat. “I... I could be mistaken.”

His voice was eerily calm. “There are mistakes in the brushwork. This is a practice version written on good paper.” He lowered the page. “You are not mistaken. This is my brother’s.”

Her mind shouted commands in the following silence. Say something. Do something. Anything, anything except sit there staring at his viper-like glare while all your heat drains through your feet into the floor.

“Why don’t I go see him?” He sprung up and made for the door. “Yes, I think I will. The guards don’t know where to look, but I do. I should congratulate him on this most excellent poem.” He glanced at her from the entrance. “You may come if you wish.”

She didn’t. But neither was she going to leave him alone. There was something about his gait, the calmness of his voice, the violence with which he gripped that paper. All disparate. She couldn’t leave him alone like this. So, she followed as he descended the staircase, his mourning jacket fluttering behind him.

Three darkened hallways, into a study.

No one there. Fine. Next.

Two halls and a cloister. A darkened dōjō. No one. Next.

The halls were dizzying, the rooms never-ending. She kept pace, glancing at his stony expression, his eyes full of purpose. They passed no guards. Where were all the guards? Shouldn’t the palace be swarming with them? Just yesterday, she couldn’t turn a corner without receiving a glare from—

There. A flickering light within a tea room. He was hunched over the coal box, wakizashi still tucked into his obi, feeding papers to the coals. He froze, and again Shahai’s mind filled with what she’d seen in the garden.

Daisetsu stormed in and extended the page. “You forgot one, Sotorii!”

“Give that to me!” He swiped for it, but Daisetsu stepped back, holding the page out of reach.

“This was to be your death poem?”

The heat of the coals was nothing compared to Sotorii’s glare, and Shahai cast her eyes to the floor. “What of it?” the elder brother hissed.

“It just seems too honest for you,” said Daisetsu. He held it up. “Red petals. ‘Your hands are stained.’ Did you know father died tonight, brother?”

Sweat glinted on Sotorii’s brow. “I don’t... I...”

“I know a confession when I read one, even one so clumsy.” Daisetsu spoke through clenched teeth. “What. Did. You. Do?”

It seemed that Sotorii would protest. He braced himself, as if to face down a charging steed. But then his expression fell with his shoulders, and he was on his knees, face in his hands.

“I killed him. I killed our father.”

Shahai’s hands cupped her mouth. His own father? The Son of Heaven?

Sotorii’s words came heavy with anguish.

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