Akuma no Ran - Rebellion in the Age of the Demon: Chapter 1: Death of the Last Hero

Samurai Fantasy novel

It had long been customary for the village near the end of Autumn to parade the goddess’ portable-shrine with the head-priest (Kannushi) riding ahead as her herald. This had been the custom for nigh on a century since the time of the legendary Takimoto no Yoshinobu, the valiant hero who had rescued the northern marches from collapse. This festival timed itself quite well with the end of the harvest season when snow became more of a problem than the suns’ or the rainy season’s never-ending deluge. The date being set on the twenty-second of the tenth month and lasting until the end of that month, it was a source of much appreciated stability for a locality tormented and rest asunder by endless wars. Others might look forward to the spring or summer festivals but there were southern lands far away from the northern frontier which was to them little more than an afterthought in Autumn (if that).

Excited for the end of the year that was contrary to some a source of immense excitement. Such was their excitement that in every thatched house the sound of women and children singing could be heard long before and after the day’s work. Thus it was both the first and last sound the men heard when they awoke and later went to sleep, so that even in their dreams the season’s song echoed still. The song was an older one, older still than the oldest villager elder, so that it had developed into what seemed no less a member of the town than old Sugihiko or Shizuko the blacksmith’s daughter.

“Autumn, autumn,

In the forest, mountains and villages,

As far as one can envision,

Along hills and ridges,

Cold in spite of the rising suns’

Crimson leaves, crimson leaves,

No longer in full bloom art the leaves,

Autumn, autumn,

Across orange skies,

As far as one can envision,

Along hills and ridges,

Cold in spite of the rising suns’

Come hither, go thither,

Let us go and crush the leaves

Underfoot!”

Warm and inviting as this song was, it in no way was a proper means by which one should judge the people of Midorinoki, to the contrary. Where many of those who had colonized the north in recent decades were a kindly if fierce people, those of this particular locality were not. Hardened as much by nature’s icy claws as by frontier life they had become a harsh people, prone to suspicion towards others as much as they were ungrateful towards their nominal liege-lord. Nominal only because of how often his other duties drew him southwards due to his need to guarantee he had the ongoing support of the Imperial Court.

To most of these people this was intolerable and was a favourite topic of discussion, especially for those who all but lived in the nearby shushi (tavern) known as the ‘Kome no Hana’. The shushi in question was a large one consisting of a duo of square buildings, one where all may drink and a rear one for where guests sometimes stayed. The owner old Moriyoshi, was an old curmudgeon one who was half-Emishi and half-Yamatai, who had lived in Midorinoki for well over seventy years, and toiled at his rectangular, shushi for most of those decades. It was the night before the planned festival that one of the more boisterous regulars aired his feelings on the matter in the loudest manner imaginable. “The wolves gather all about us and still we are told to wait! Still we are expected to wait meekly for rescue all the while he dances and sings needlessly for the court!”

There were some cheers and some murmurs of agreement with him, as those around him glumly bowed their heads in morose dread. None knew quite what to say nor did they know how the rumours of the fall of all the northerly forts of Mittsu province had begun. Though none wished to believe them (such a thing being too terrible to believe), they had nonetheless begun to realize that which ought to have been apparent from the time they were born; there was no such thing as safety.

There was however one dissident voice that rose up in disagreement with Shinsuke (the current drunk responsible for turning the conversation against their liege), the voice in question was that of Gon. One of the eldest of the locals, he was infamous for his love of drink along with his love of gambling a pair of flaws that had won him much criticism despite how well-liked he was in the locality. At this time he had not yet imbibed all that much, on account of his having only just arrived after a gruelling day in the fields, and so he spoke mildly. “Certainly you speak true when tendering criticism against the Court; however our Lord is a man of integrity and honour. Therefore it is hardly becoming to continuously speak of the flaws and mistakes of others.”

Seated at the front of the shushi not far from where Shinsuke stood now, the square interior was one in which there was plenty of space for the guests to wander and mingle. There were cushions of the poorest quality placed before the twelve tables, some were in the shadows and others near to the entrance. The shushi’s cushions were not of the best sort though as they were rough things made of cloth wrapped around old thatch, Ishi the Master of this place could have replaced them. He was once a rather successful carpenter who had helped to rebuild the local monastery after it burnt down some thirty years ago. There was also a bar for guests to seat themselves also with only the favourites of the old man liking to do so, amongst them of course was Shinsuke. To one side there was a door that led to the kitchens through which Ishi often disappeared along with his wife, and just a short distance  

“All know of your respect for our Lord a respect we all share however why in spite of this has he not appeared herein the north, to rescue us from the barbarians plaguing us?” The younger man demanded furiously, hirsute and muscular it was no great wonder that he had daunted so utterly and completely so many of his fellows.

“Mayhaps, he is on his way,” Proposed a new voice, this one far harsher and sharper than the raspy voice of old man Gon.

“I doubt that,” Old man Neru snorted, the uncle by marriage to Shinsuke, he was closer to the youth than the man’s own father, and could always be founding agreeing with him no matter the issue or topic. “I have lived here for well over sixty years, and have observed how over the course of the past thirty years since the Former Eight-Years War he has changed from young hero to elderly disgrace.”

The man from the south who had spoken up from deep within the shadows, and who sat to the rear of the small shushi leant back. He was quiet, not that this bothered the men of Midorinoki, turning away from him they considered the matter settled.

Only Gon sought to continue his heroic defence of their feudal-lord if feebly so, “Certainly he has turned his attention south in recent years yet it could also be possible that he intends to gather his banners head and is currently en route hither to our defence.”

Several of those around him guffawed at those limp words, as Gon sagged in defeat alongside those few men who wished to keep faith in Yoshinobu-dono[1]. Hardly of a nature to let a beaten dog lick his wounds in peace, Aoki, Shinsuke and their friends did not simply snigger but were to taunt them all the more. “Oh come now Gon, even you must think that unlikely!” The shushi-master sneered.

“Agreed, and do you know why he will not ride to our rescue against those filthy Emishi? Because he is a coward!” Shinsuke shouted wherefore he took a long draft of his sake bottle foregoing as always the use of a cup.

At present the stranger leant forward once more, his feet falling from where he had set them upon another table. His manner was colder than a snow-squall in the dead of winter. “Shinsuke retract thy words at once.”

“What? Why would I do that?” Shinsuke demanded with a snort.

Silence. The outsider though could be seen shifting among the shadows, doing so with nary a sound being made not that many of the patrons realized what it was that was afoot.

“Our Lord has abandoned us long ago,” Neru sneered disdainfully.

“Exactly, and do you know why that is strange? It is because Yoshinobu is a lout.” Shinsuke jeered mockingly, wherefore he drank deeper.

“Do not insult him, and do not utter his name in so vulgar a manner,” the outsider hissed at his most venomous, and so softly that most did not hear him.

Snorting ins disbelief, the drunkard and his friends were to insult and worst of all they repeated their accusations of loutishness and cowardice. It was when their drunken leader went on to utter once more the name of Yoshinobu that a new hissing sound was heard, one akin to a serpent.

Sudden as the eruption of a volcano or a wolf snapping the neck of a wayward deer, the shadow struck Shinsuke’s head from his broad shoulders.

Others might well have screamed or offered resistance in some manner had the steel katana of the stranger not slashed across Neru’s chest, ending his life. Next was Ishi the master of the shushi was to fall also just before a single one of their mirth-filled friends so much as moved to attack the shadow.

It took the outsider less time than it might have another man that which takes to take a single swallow of white rice to end the lives of those who had insulted Yoshinobu. When he had finished his violent work, the shadow who was not a shadow wiped his katana clean upon the upper part of the kimono of Shinsuke while all those who survived looked on from where they had taken refuge behind a dozen tables stared on in horror.

The stranger sheathed his blade in a casual manner, smiled tightly at those around him, “Takimoto-dono as I said is en route. I am but a scout, and think it might be best to clean this place and to prepare the village for the arrival of our Lord.”

To the local people, who had not seen the Lord of the lands of Mittsu to which they were officially attached to, they were filled with expectation. They could not help it, as they awaited the man who had ridden down the likes of King Pauchi, nigh on thirty years prior, in the fields of Midorinoki Fields. A man who had despite the most overwhelming of circumstances, numbers and lack of proper support from the Imperial Court, seized victory. So that to the local people on the frontier, he was more than simply a man; he was a half-god.

What none of them had expected to see, as they raced to either side of the road, or to stand just outside the pub to await him, was the plump figure a-horse before them. Murmuring amongst themselves, they could not help but feel quite a bit disappointed by what it was that they saw.

Fat, with his neck having over the years seemingly disappeared, Yoshinobu was dressed in his recognisable crimson armour from his youth, with his war-helm on his round head. He looked closer to a large ball than to the heroic figure from thirty years prior, with even his moustache once short having grown larger so that it stretched from jowl to jowl. His body was to jostle with every movement of his large war-horse, so that a great many had to resist the urge to snicker as they watched him. Doing so behind their hands, or as they bowed their heads as he moved past them, his thousands of retainers, house-hold guards, ashigaru (that is to say footmen), bushi-archers and standard bearers.

If they dared to mock the man himself, none dared to mock the kanji that dominated his great scarlet war-helm. It was the character for Gi. Piercing some with his dark burning gaze, Yoshinobu if he noticed how some sniggered did not say anything. Whether out of comprehension that he was not the same man he was, or because of that very sense of duty and morality that decorated his helm none could say.

Fanning himself with his small folding fan, Yoshinobu was to urge his men onwards with a backwards glance to them. It happened that a great many of his men, currently struggling through the mire on foot and a-horse alike, each of them looking to him with nary any of the doubt that plagued the villagers.

Others might have looked to him and been filled with scorn, or some sense of dismay, but not they. They had fought with him, had fought for him and had only ever known complete and utter faith in him so that to each of them, he was more than some distant figure or hero. He was akin to a father to them.

It was with a moue of displeasure, at the expressions on the peasants’ faces that he was to call out to his deputy, “Satomine, tell the men to pick up the pace, I have no desire to stay in this place.”

“Yes Tono[2],” His banner-bearer and deputy acquiesced, wherefore he turned on his horse to shout out their liege lord’s instructions.

The men for their part grumbled. Try as they might to keep from sinking into the muddy road, they could not quite succeed half as well as they might have otherwise liked. Fond as they were of their lord, this particular order served to annoy them a great deal more than even he knew.

*******

The army was to settle itself on a hill six leagues outside the village, a distance that Yoshinobu felt to be appropriate. The place the army was to settle itself upon, was a hill overlooking the village, with only a local monastery (that which Midorinoki belonged to) which was located even further uphill from their own position. Familiar with the area, Yoshinobu had against all advice preferred to place them just to the south of the shrine.

Thousands of tents had been established thereupon the hill, with more than twenty thousand men occupying the region, milling about and sharpening their arrows. Others were more interested in preparing food, in the cutting of trees, in order to turn them into palisades, arrows and spears. Not a single man lazed about, or otherwise did aught else than busy themselves with preparations for the battle all knew was to come.

At the centre of the encampment, stood the tallest of all the tents, one which was crimson and prouder than any of the others that had been erected all around it. It was within this tent that Yoshinobu had taken up residence, having aided in the erecting of the tent himself, so that he sat now inside, removing slivers from his large hands.

“We really ought to have moved to occupy the temple,” Takimoto no Hidemasu grumbled, the good-brother of the general, as he paced the length and breadth of the tent.  Hidemasu was a large man, with broad shoulders and a prominent forehead, he had narrow eyes, a more muscular build and an air of severity about him that rarely ever set anyone at ease. This along with his disapproving gaze, thick moustache and retreating hairline had won him the nickname ‘the grasshopper lord’.

Older than him by almost a dozen years, Yoshinobu was to recline in his seat ever so slightly, enjoying the feeling of a full stomach after weeks of marching. An inveterate warrior by nature, there was naught that he enjoyed more than being out on campaign, especially if it was for the glory of His Eminence and to help his people. But the worst part about a campaign these days, he thought to himself was the part where he was on horseback for weeks without end, and forced to always eat or rest in a hurry.

“To have done so, would have only alienated the locals,” Yoshinobu replied in a more moderate tone, patting his belly and stretching like a large housecat. “I have little doubt that temperance and compromise with the local shrine and people, will once again prevail as it did twenty years prior.”

“Hmm,” Hidemasu grunted disapprovingly, “Our present position is hardly defensible though. We are out in the open; near to the mountains without being near enough to enjoy the high-ground. Almost below the shrine, which stands atop the hill and to the south lies the village of Midorinoki with farm-fields and open fields in that direction also and with forests lying to the east and west. What do we do if the enemy should strike from those directions? What then, Yoshinobu?”

“You wish to know what we will do, in the event they strike from the forest?”

“Yes indeed.”

“We shall crush them.” Yoshinobu answered simply to the disgust of the younger man, who looked on him with the frustration of a restrained stallion that wished only to break loose.

“Long have I looked on you as one would a brother,” Hidemasu replied quietly, never a man to mince his words and never one to speak falsely with the husband of his older sister. “But if I may, I do think that you have perhaps become conceited if you truly do believe that the Emishi, will not pounce on such an opportunity.”

Yoshinobu’s lip twitched, in a show of displeasure one that any other man might have fled at the sight of. All knew the ferocity of Yoshinobu’s temper, one that had set even courtiers in flight from his presence, despite his being little more than a bushi in their eyes. Quietly dabbing at his lips with a cloth, always a man eager to be seen as civilized when not in the midst of battle, he was to say to his friend. “All know that the Emishi are dangerous foes. They are sly, ferocious and are kindred to those of us from the provinces. And none know this better than I, however if I may say so; I do not think they have reached so far south as Midorinoki.”

“You assume too much,” Hidemasu countered sharply.

“And you doubt too much, Hidemasu,” Yoshinobu snapped with equal severity so that the younger man fell silent, daunted by the fury that flashed to life in his friend’s eyes. “I do not mind if you contradict me, however at present this disagreement between us grows tiresome. Leave me, I wish to sleep now, as I am quite tired.”

Hidemasu opened his mouth, closed it then glared at his good-brother and might well have stormed out at that exact moment, if it were not for the return of a guard, from elsewhere. Coughing out of embarrassment the guard was to speaking with many, ‘excuse mes’ and ‘do excuse mes’, before he entered the tent. The guard who entered was dressed in blue armour, with a large helm on his head, his face flushed redder than Hidemasu’s own raiment.

Apprehensive at the notion that he might have interrupted some urgent discussion between the two lords, the man who entered fell to one knee before his liege. Saying as he bent the knee, “Tono, do forgive the sudden intrusion but I have news from Akayama-dono of Shiro Province.”

“Yes, yes, does he have some minor complaint to make?” Yoshinobu was to ask him sharply, a worried furrow to his brow.

“He wished to communicate his desire to station extra guards along the forest to the east, and also to have the forest patrolled in the event that the Emishi should lead an ambush through it.” The messenger informed him, which pulled a pointed look from Fujimori no Massanoki.

Yoshinobu for his part, was to consider this knowledge and while he gave a hefty sigh, one that seemed to tumble out from the very depths of his being. It was while he rubbed at his bearded chin that he was to give the matter some thought. “So Akayama-dono, wishes to patrol the forests and maintain a guard? I do not trust that old man.”

“His son seems stalwart,” the messenger piped up faithfully, only to flush red when he saw their eyes fall upon him once more. It was at this time that he despite how visibly daunted he was by their sharp gazes, was to add, “Not that he is much more impressive in his virtuousness than thy son, Yoshitada, tono.”

The latter statement was delivered with a bow of his head, one that brought forth a smile from the older man, who looked on him with a certain fondness. Amused by the timidity of his messenger, he was to glance to his good-brother to find the other man glowering at the youth.

Shrugging a pair of massive shoulders, he was to remark with a raised brow, “And what say you, Satomine?”

“What say I to what, tono?” Satomine asked of his liege, confused.

“To the message from Akayama-dono?”

“Do not ask him, brother he is but the son of a lowly footman!” Hidemasu objected disdainfully.

Satomine for his part, flushed even redder as his cheeks burnt with the humiliation cast upon him by the middle-aged warlord’s words. He might well have liked to take up the blade against him, might well have enjoyed punishing him, yet he did nothing of the sort. His was a lowly birth as mentioned, and he knew that because of that he had nary the right to so much as answer back, let alone bare steel against the other warrior.

Thankfully, the plump hero of the prior war was of a considerably more sympathetic disposition towards him. Saying as he reclined a little, stretching out with his arms and yawning as he did so only to excuse himself and repeat himself. “I meant my faithful Satomine; what do you think of Akayama-dono’s proposed plan? Should I allow him leave, to do as he pleases? Or should I forbid him and hold fast to my faith in my own perception of the situation?”

At this question Satomine froze. Aware that his decision might greatly impact that of his liege-lord, he was to chew and stew on this particular dilemma for some time. Whole ages could well have passed without aught more than a passing glance on his part. His contemplation of the ground that lay at the feet of his lord, his slow pondering of the situation won him the scorn of Hidemasu. It also won him a slightly approving stare from the older man, who waited with the patience of the very eldest of spirits that were once believed to rule all the land of Zipangu.

It was only after he had thought things over for some time, after he had considered the situation in its fullness that Satomine gave a long, well thought out summation of his view on the matter. To say that it was well-considered, intelligent was to do it a great injustice, for it was more than that. It was both clever and also diplomatic to such an extent that generals throughout the ages (those not too proud to consider the ideas of those lesser in rank than themselves that is), would have celebrated.

“If I may say so, I should think it best to grant him the permission to search the local lands as he pleases, yet to take the matter into your own hands tono.” Satomine recommended cautiously, elaborating when he saw the inquisitive looks they threw in his direction. “You see, you cannot be seen to offend Akayama-dono, yet neither can you fully trust another with patrols and the watch-duty. Therefore, you would in my view be advised to have your own men stationed at every entrance to the camp, and have your own men patrolling it and the forest.”

A moment of silence followed, as Hidemasu and his supporters stared at him with a speculative looks in their eyes, while Yoshinobu broke out into a slow grin.

Pleased with the young man’s counsel, he was to motion to him saying to his good-brother, “There you are, you see now Hidemasu? You see why it is that I favour Satomine so? He is wise and good as any man born on this earth could ever be!”

“I fail to see anything impressive about his counsel,” Hidemasu countered sharply, “It is the height of good-sense to do as he suggests.”

“Which is why I favour him so,” Yoshinobu persisted stubbornly.

“But the good-sense of which I speak, is that possessed by all men,” Hidemasu snapped, moving to leave the tent with a sneer in the direction of the kneeling Satomine. “I could name ten men with thrice the sense and strategic ability of this man.” Saying now to the messenger, “It shall be as you have advised.”

“Yet none of them would be him,” Yoshinobu retorted evenly, only to turn back to the guard when his good-brother had departed. “Do not give him any mind, Satomine. He is an envious, worthless creature one with nary any sense in him, who’s only value lies in his status and that is all.”

“I do not think it wise to speak so dismissively of him, tono,” Satomine warned him, worried for his lord who smiled down at him.

“My dear Satomine, I daresay you have too much geniality, too much goodness in you,” Yoshinobu replied amusedly before he got up to his feet. “This is the reason for which, you shall never rise high as a bushi; you are too soft Satomine.”

It was a harsh and unfair judgement in the eyes of Satomine, one that if it had come from another he would have disputed. But the trouble was that since it came from Yoshinobu he could not and would not dispute it.

Bowing his head, he swallowed down his frustration though this did not mean that he intended to ignore the criticism, “If I may say so, I do not think myself too soft.”

“You may have a temper, but a temper and being soft are not mutually exclusive from one another my dear Satomine,” Yoshinobu told him quietly, brow furrowed as he added. “Now if you will do me the pleasure, Hidemasu of informing Akayama of my desire to follow his counsel. Tell him also that I would have my men supervise the patrols within and near the forest, and within the encampment.”

Hidemasu bowed his head, aware that the conversation was at an end. Departing at once to do as he had been bidden, he was to spend much of the remainder of the night conveying his liege’s orders. Akayama-dono was to receive his orders with a grin and a hearty cheer before he organized the patrols exactly as Yoshinobu had requested. Hidemasu though was to bite his lower lip the whole time, infuriated with his good-brother so that most preferred to steer away from him. Those who did not, felt the sting of his feet and his horse-whip more than once as he vented his fury with cries of. “A filthy guardsman’s son! He has taken the counsel of a filthy ashigaru’s son over my own tried and true stratagems! How dare he!?”

None doubted of whom he spoke, nor did many express much curiosity. All knew the truth, and few cared. All knew how much Yoshinobu doted upon Satomine, and all knew how since the death of Hidemasu’s sister’s death how the two men had grown apart. The wisest of them all whispered that this current state of affairs could not continue, either Hidemasu would someday refuse to obey Yoshinobu or he would betray.

*****

Once Hidemasu had left, doing in the same manner that a hurricane might have after it had concluded its destructive work, Yoshinobu heaved a gusty sigh of relief. Reclining slightly on his seat, he was to remove his kabuto-helm at long last after having worn it for days on end, running a hand through his hair only to tug at his topknot thoughtfully.

“I do believe Hidemasu has become rather more obtuse in his older days, neh Satomine-kun?” Yoshinobu remarked in a conversational tone, scratching his beard after he had removed his left gauntlet.

“I would not go so far as to ever contemplate such a thing,” Satomine demurred loudly at once.

“Apologies for discomfiting you, it was not my intention,” his liege comment whereupon he regained his feet in a flurry of movement that seemed more appropriate for a man half his age. “You really must see about ridding yourself of that peculiar timidity of yours.”

“Yes, tono.”

“You truly are the finest bushi imaginable,” Yoshinobu complimented with a great bellowing laugh as he clapped the blushing youth’s shoulder, urging him in the next breath to regain his feet. “Now away with you, go enjoy some rice porridge and pickles.” Satomine meekly acquiesced, a small smile on his own bearded lips. This boyish grin was removed as swiftly as it appeared when his liege next spoke. “Also Satomine-kun; stay away from the village, I have no wish for a repetition of thy previous killings or any further conflict with them, is that understood? Those people are under my protection for I am not only their Lord but their servant as are you.”

Though he might have liked to disagree, Satomine soon found himself reluctantly nodding his head with a whispered ‘yes’. Satisfied that he had learnt his lesson, Yoshinobu clapped him heartily once more on the shoulder, and dismissed him with another of his dog-like laughs. Bowing as he went, Satomine left with his face hot with shame to have drawn the displeasure of his revered liege-lord, who still smiling went on to compose another letter. A letter intended to call upon the assistance of the remaining lords of the north.

He was to write not only a short missive to them, but was to write one intended for the remaining monks in the area ordering them to provide men and supplies where necessary. His letters were given to one of his heralds who was to have it copied by one of the aides brought north to assist the Lord of Mittsu in just such a manner. Once they had done this, the missives were given over to riders who carried them away, few of them aware that there was one letter. This last messenger for his part was to venture forth thither into the nearby forest so discretely that none took notice of him. If they had, they might well have given chase, or they might have burnt the whole of the forest to the ground.

*****

On guard for ten days, atop Midori-hill they were to come to not only the Shiromori woods but the plains to the south of Midorinoki but also those across the river to the east of their encampment atop the hill.

Those scouts who journeyed north and west into the forests were to find naught but the crowing of ravens and yellow glowing eyes of coyotes same as those who searched the forests to the east and plains of to the south. Unnerved, most reported little more than these shadowed findings to their chieftains who for their part were to be left frustrated and no less confused by the said reports they heard.

“A fine mess this is; scouts frightened by rustling branches, howling coyotes, cawing crows and shadows,” Hidemasu growled throwing his hands up in the air in exasperation.

All of Yoshinobu’s vassals and highest ranking retainers were gathered therein his pavilion, each seated upon their own seat that lined up to the left and right hand sides of him all the way to the entrance of the tent. The pavilion had an inner tent area which had a proper roof where he might rest under, and where there was a map on a table, a separate table with a sake-bottle, cups and also of all things a Sugoroku board. The lords sworn to the house of Takimoto were seated out in the open air, with the tent behind them that they might sit together and discuss the situation with a second map spread out before them, one that depicted the locality. And each of them wiped at their brows or fanned themselves with paper-fans that bore the emblems of their respective houses; the most noteworthy of which were the Kawamoto, the Shōnin branch of the Takimoto family, the Akiyama, the Momoharu, the Ishikaga, the Azuma branch of the Nohara family. Each of them had for emblems the kanji of their individual houses. There were of course also the Fuyukami, the Aohara, the Morigashi, the Shiroka, Akamori, Yoneoka, the Genmu branch of the Nohara, and that of the Takimoto, there was also of course the Fujimura branch of the Northern Tahara clan, the Fujioka, the Hagihara, Ishida, Iwasaki, and Fujisaki clans. These were the twenty greatest vassals of the Takimoto and there were twelve others of nigh on equal greatness. They were as follows; Kamata, Sakurada, Miyata, Kanzaki, Ogawa, Ōkībayashi, Sasaki, the Shōtoku branch of the Takimoto and Momohana clans, the Shinhara, the Shirashi, and the Takahashi clans.

Bothered by the sudden heat-wave that had surged unexpectedly Yoshinobu shook his head in disbelief at this sudden change in temperature, grumbling more to himself, “Such heat! Yabai! How I wish that it was still the raining season or already winter.”

“Yes, have you ever felt such heat before so late in the year?” One of the younger lords, Higashi no Nobuyuki complained.

From next to him to the left sat the Kawamoto no Michiie-dono, let loose despite his own visible discomfort a loud chortle. “Oh this is quite nothing in comparison to the day of the last battle of the Former Eight-Years War! It was a little later in the year than it is now, and thrice as hot!”

“This heat is different though, it is far, far more oppressive,” Yoshinobu grunted discontentedly only to glance over to his other servants to take notice of how seven of them seemed utterly at ease in the blazing heat. “At least for some…”

Taking notice at last of his hardened stare, the seven Hidemasu included whipped open their own fans and made a grand show of fanning themselves, with one of their number, Haraguchi no Yorinaga-dono even feigning a fainting spell. This might have attracted the suspicion of the still loyal lords present if it was not for Satomine hurrying hither back to Yoshinobu’s side to whisper into his ear.

Distracted, and with Yorinaga’s exaggerated act quite forgotten he was to draw the attention of his followers away by proclaiming, “The enemy forces have at last come, with our most northerly scouts having just reported their findings.”

“Are they reliable? It might be wiser to utilize my own men since they are not quite as easily spooked,” Hidemasu proposed, with a hint of suspicion in his voice.

“Hardly necessary, Satomine has already had six men confirm the news,” Yoshinobu said with a warm glance to his young guard who as always when praised by him flushed up to his ears and bowed his head to hide his pleased mien.

The look the kneeling warrior received from a number of those assembled was darker than twilight with none more displeased than Hidemasu himself, who feigned a large yawn to hide his true feelings. “Tell us though, how far are they from our present position? Should we don our Ō-yoroi and prepare for battle?”

Satomine shook his head, “The enemy is hours away, likely they will reach the fort of the northern hill in the morn’.”

This answer hardly seemed to appease the stiff Lord of Kawamoto-Keep, not that anyone present was remotely interested in him at present, not when they had an opposing army all but before them to prepare for. Mulling over the situation, Yoshinobu was to call for a map to be brought forth that he might better consider how best to counter the enemy’s movements and make use of the local terrain. The desired map was fully introduced to the assembly on a large table borrowed from the local monastery.

Satisfied by this Yoshinobu was to have pieces representing the enemy and his own forces also laid out; those with the characters for Emishi for the enemy, and Takimoto for his own. Pointing to the pieces on the map with his fan, he was to explain the enemy’s stratagem to his followers. “The enemy plan such as it is, is fairly self-evident; this alliance between the houses of those who form the Kiyomoto-alliance intends to strike from the north with that portion of their forces meant to threaten the monastery while Haraguchi’s forces shall strike from the west once we give chase after the Kiyomoto’s men so that in this way they shall encircle and destroy us. But I say to thee, we shall not fall into this trap, we shall render the enemy’s greatest strength that is to say the forests moot.”

“How do you intend to do so tono?” Nobuyuki inquired already impressed by the acumen of the elderly warrior.

“I am glad you ask Nobuyuki-kun,” Yoshinobu said cheerfully as he circled around his map. “We shall utilize their very own tactic against them by deploying a portion of our vanguard who will feign retreat while a number of our archers supply covering fire. My own detachment shall move to yon river to wait to advance and encircle the enemy to press them against the monastery’s forces which shall pour out from behind their gates to finish what we have begun.”

There were gasps of awe, murmured words of admiration to be sure since few if any could have lain the matter out quite so skilfully or half as well. Those who had fought the previous war in the north or any of his other campaigns then knew how profound his genius for the art of war was.

Most though now looked to Hidemasu, all were expectant to find him prepared to find in him a whole host of complaints about this plan. To their surprise though he had no such words to offer, pensive he was to instead smile and offer up faint praise, “Truly an impressive proposal that only one such as yourself could have dreamt into being.”

Pleased by the praise of his deceased wife’s brother’s response the Lord of Mittsu was to say with visible relief. “Thank you, aniue now if I may as a reward offer you command of the vanguard and those archers intended to provide them covering fire during their false retreat.”

The honour poured upon Hidemasu was enough to make any man envious, any man from the court that is. Those present took it as a matter of course that their liege would favour him so, with most beaming pleased to see the two at last reconciled. All seemed to rejoice. All save one. That one was old Michiie. Plump with age, in the way that many elders become, he had a chest-length white beard, thinning hair which was gathered as best was possible for a tiny top-knot and a fine moustache. He was also noteworthy for his clever if squinty eyes that seemed always to be piercing through all men that stood before him, even as his long-nose was compared to the beak of a hawk. In all Michiie was a formidable man, who demanded respect with an air of authority and wisdom about his person.

Keen-eyed and quiet by nature he was rarely ever heard, even during war-councils’ he was known to remain silent. This was thus a highly unusual moment, and one that filled all with a sudden sense of premonition for how could it not when he so rarely spoke? “My men shall take up thy rear-guard, Yoshinobu-dono.”

“Really? I could never have predicted that you might volunteer for such a role, I had thought that you still hungered for glory,” Yoshinobu remarked with another bark of laughter.

Michiie looked from his liege to the man’s good-brother, with an almost stern scowl, “That is so, tono and it is why I have chosen to volunteer to serve in the rear-guard, where there will I think be a great deal of combat before the day of the battle is through.”

The directness of his manner and blunt speech was to surprise a great many of those gathered. They had rarely if ever heard Michiie-dono speak at all, with most only recalling a dozen times at most in total.  Such was the formalness, the shyness and silent nature of the Lord of Kawamoto that he could well have been at the best of times mistaken for a statue.

If Michiie was disapproving and quiet, Hidemasu was to explode with volcanic rage bellowing as he did so, “Do you mean to imply that I and my men will not prove worthy enough to win the battle that is to come?”

“Hidemasu that is not what Michiie meant to imply at all, was it?” Yoshinobu uttered first to one man then to the other, sounding at his most conciliatory. “Now was it old friend?”

Michiie was a man who had never surrendered before a challenge in spite of himself and refused to cower before Hidemasu’s glare, preferring to meet it with his own icy stare, “No, it was not.”

Though his words were conceding ones, his tone and glare spoke otherwise to the Lord of Kawamoto, who took his meaning at once. Truly this was a dark thing to say, and was marked in the memories of all who survived those that followed as proof of the foresight of old Michiie, with a great many to give him much lauded credit for seeing through the storm-clouds so to speak that covered the perceptions of his liege and those around him. These storm-clouds manifested themselves first as it was, by the announcement that there were locals present who wished to see Yoshinobu.

Startled, he looked at long last away from the map, and from his vassals to stare at the retainer who knelt before him sheepishly. Confused, the old man never one to turn one of his people away, let alone a small herd of them gave his assent, saying to his vassals, “We shall continue this war-council after I have seen to the needs of our people and dispatched some of them to scout the local area. Whatever this is, it is unlikely to take very long.”

If he could have only known, he might well have bitten his tongue before he spoke. If he knew what the fates had in store for him, he might well have done more than that. He likely would have slaughtered a portion of his vassals and allies, and would have marched upon the enemy.

Yet such is the fate of man; elusive and always fading as good gives sway to evil, and evil back to good, as the leaves change colours in autumn, only to wither and become buried under winter snows. The truth is that this is the destiny of man; to fade and perish, so it has always been and so it shall always be until at last the final of all battles between gods and devils is seen.

*****

It was after this clash between the two good-brothers, and then that which fate had reserved for Yoshinobu and the local family heads. This second clash was to be one that served to exacerbate the tension and ill-mood that loomed over the old man. This one took place after Satomine had left to spread the orders he had been given, with the herald of the Lord of Mittsu province to recall him into his presence after many hours had passed. Returning after dusting his hands, having been in the midst of assisting with the palisade in between the river and the second of the hills, the one upon which the monastery stood to find, only to find his liege in a foul mood. Seeing this filled him with worry, so that Satomine said nothing, preferring to simply fall to one knee before the older man and to bow his head.

“Satomine-kun, you have put me in an impossible situation with those murders you committed just before our arrival hither.” Yoshinobu complained quietly, as he sat in the same place he had occupied during the war-counsel, sipping at his wine-cup, only to eventually stop so that he could refill it.

“Apologies, tono forgive me for my foolish behaviour!” Satomine murmured bowing his head until it came near to touching the ground before his liege-lord.

“Would you say the same to the kinsmen of those whom you slew? Those who just visited me?”

“That I cannot do!”

“And why ever not?” the impatience that laced Yoshinobu’s voice was unmistakeable.

“Because,” Satomine hesitated briefly before he plunged forward with speaking his mind as his liege always sought to encourage him to do, “Because of how they spoke of you. I will not apologize for in my view they merited their punishment for how they spoke of you tono.”

Yoshinobu drank thirstily, draining his cup twice before he next addressed the younger man, “Satomine-kun know that I would be within my rights to beat you and kill you, and would do so were it not for how I have always regarded you as nigh on my own, after your father passed away all those years ago.”

There was at those words a shadow that came over his herald, who bowed his head even more than before. His father Mineharu was a guardsman, a mere ashigaru who served on one of the watch-towers to Castle-Mononobe and had been called upon to fight in the Montō region. It was during the battle of Aohama, Mineharu had it was said vanished, having been given command of a single ship of some dozen men that were supposed to ambush the enemy when a storm hit and the ship was torn from the coast and cast adrift. But not before he had fought in the battle of Momohara, just before it proven himself when he rescued his liege after the man was unhorsed and helped him climb back atop his steed. It was this deed that had made his liege decide for his own part to make a point to take in the man’s son.

His grief for the passing of his father was interrupted by the old man’s next words, “And to hand you over would also bring much sorrow to my daughter, something I would prefer to avoid.”

Surprised by those words, Satomine was to stutter and struggle for words, wherefore he fell quiet. Flushing scarlet at the thought of Akemi no Ue the third eldest of Yoshinobu’s daughters, Satomine was filled with gratitude for his lord’s not taking his head not only over this matter, but over that of his bond with the man’s daughter.

Smitten with her since long ago, he had never made his thoughts or wishes regarding her known in any public manner. Private by nature and wary of bringing any hint of shame to his revered benefactor he had preferred to simply watch over her from a distance as might a brother or cousin.

“Satomine-kun, if you truly do wish to honour me and safeguard my name, swear to me that you will never repeat such a crime and that you will keep thy distance from the village.” Yoshinobu told him sternly, his eyes boring holes into his very soul.

Against his will, Satomine bowed his head.

*****

The Lord of Mittsu finished with scolding his herald for breaking the balance of peace in the local area, turned away dismissing him at which time he turned his attention to the matter of penning a letter to his son and daughter. This took the better part of an hour as his was a clumsy hand with a brush. His kanji were even to his eye stilted and jagged and otherwise a blight upon the paper which they had been cast.

His letters despatched he was to at last with a profound sigh of relief lay down upon the ground grateful for the chance to sleep before battle was joined. A part of him only wished that his Midori could have been present at his side at that moment to massage his back while he slumbered.

“Tono! The enemy has suddenly appeared upon the horizon and in greater numbers than expected!” Someone shouted from outside, startling him from his sleep after what felt to him to be but a few seconds yet he knew to in fact be several hours.

It was still night, this he knew at once before he had so much as risked a glance outside. Staring for a second or two ere he groggily regained his feet, he was to come very near to being thrown from them when one of his men, a youth by the name of Arata appeared before him running straight into the old man who was even more surprised than he was.

Embarrassed he stopped mid-step eyes wide as his voice came near to turning into a whimper, “Tono! The enemy has- Oh apologies, forgive me! I shan’t believe- do forgive me!”

“Never you mind your pleas for forgiveness, tell me of what has come to pass?”

“It is the enemy they have appeared before us and in greater force than before, doing so without any warning.” Yoshinobu told him worriedly, beside himself with panic at the thought that the enemy might soon be upon them.

Hardly able to bring himself to do aught else than wonder to himself what Hidemasu’s scouts were doing while everyone slept for them to have been caught unawares in such a manner. “Help me to don my armour and have someone prepare our horses and sent for Michiie I would have him advance to support our flank should the worst happen.”

“Yes, tono,” Arata answered at once, still looking pale as he aided his liege to don his ō-yoroi once more.

Once he had donned his armour he was to hurry out of his pavilion after Arata, though he knew what to expect he was still taken aback by what it was he saw. Thereupon the fields near the base of the hill upon which the local monastery sat were the forces of the Emishi people, with the banners of the Kiyomoto clan fluttering in the wind.

Many were those gathered all about Yoshinobu and many more those who at his insistence were sent away to gather their arms and armour. “Away with all of you! Away, away and return to thy horses and stations once you have all in place that you may hurry to the assistance of our friends!”

Other generals might have struggled to enforce order and discipline under such circumstances, but not Yoshinobu he was to only do so but have his men he was to not only do so but have his men begin their advancement within the hour such was vigour of his character and the loyalty he instilled in those around him.

Consumed by his need to rescue the brother of his long deceased wife, Yoshinobu hardly paid his surroundings much more than the scantest attention. Advancing barely more than a few meters his forces were to be beset by the most extraordinary of enemies; the nearby river. Quaking and trembling all while the defenders of Mittsu devoted themselves to arraying themselves in the order that their general had commanded. None took notice until it was too late for them to escape the trap that had been set for them.

The firsts to take notice of the river’s rise high overhead, were those men who had formed the rear-guard. Gaping at first they nonetheless within seconds a great shout of terror arose from among their ranks.

Alerted to the danger to the east of them, the main body of Yoshinobu’s forces broke rank with nary a thought to the enemy to the north-west. The waters of the Torakawa River were to crash down upon the greater part of the army, sweeping thousands of men away in a matter of seconds.

His army lost almost in their entirety to the crashing waves that turned to its prior peacefulness once its bloody work was finished. The was not the only disaster that was to visit itself upon the defenders of Mittsu; minutes after the river had attacked them, the forces to the west and of the north turned as one to begin their own assault against them.

Attacking as one they were to lay waste to the surviving vanguard of the Takimoto and those bushi on horseback still alive.

Stunned to find the forces of Hidemasu riding against his own, their arrows striking dead the last of his personal guard, Yoshinobu could only stare. Having been thrown from his horse which had panicked when the seas rose up, he had only evaded being trampled to death by virtue of Nobuyuki riding to the rescue. Grasping him by the arm the youth had borne him ever so slightly to the west to his guards before he had let go his liege.

“Tono, what are we to do?” Nobuyuki asked stricken with fear.

“Hidemasu has betrayed me…” Yoshinobu gasped barely able to grasp aught else.

“Tono, you must escape from this place!” Nobuyuki shouted even as others did the same.

“Escape? Flee from battle? I the heir of Yoriie am to disgrace his name by fleeing from the enemy?” Yoshinobu growled his hitherto wide and confused eyes now ablaze with hatred and indignation. “Never!”

“But-”

“I shall not live with the disgrace of defeat!” he added as he seized the whip from the youth’s hands. “But you must fly south to warn everyone of my failure.”

Nobuyuki sought to protest yet his efforts met with failure as his patron struck his horse’s rear. Screeching it was to tear its way south carrying the reluctant screaming away with it. Turning away, Yoshinobu was to accept the bow of one of his guards along with the quiver of one of his fallen bushi.

The first of his arrows was to pierce the throat of a tall warrior who was responsible for the death of four of his guards. The warrior grasped at his throat as a hiss escaped his lips one that filled Yoshinobu with no small amount of satisfaction.

This sense of relief to have hit his many marks was to serve to lull him into a false sense of security, one that was to prove his undoing. It was as he notched another arrow, took aim that he was utterly taken by surprise by the sudden charge of Hidemasu. Hardly bothering with either arrows or pole-arms he simply relied upon the raw force of his steed to throw his foe to the ground. Buried beneath his horse, Yoshinobu was to wholly lose consciousness seconds afterwards, when his head hit a nearby stone.

*****

Searching among the dead, it took time to find and unbury Yoshinobu from beneath a small mountain of corpses. This hill of the slain, stinking of not simply death, horror and of defeat itself was surrounded by an army of fleas and crows alike. Pulled from the depths of the hill of corpses, Yoshinobu let slip a groan as he was pulled by his topknot.

The visage that stared back at him was among the most hideous and scarred that he had ever seen in all his years so that Yoshinobu was all the more sickened than when he had first awakened. The figure was thickly bearded with heavily lidded eyes that stared down at him with thinly veiled disdain, even as his thick hair was kept in place in a series of braids. These braids might have served to remind one familiar with the history of the far earlier era of the land of Zhao, from when it was known as the Empire of Cai. The figure was dressed in raiment the colour of night and with a sash the same shade of scarlet as the reddest of leaves in autumn.

“This is the man whom burnt the rebuilt fortress of Oyasippuri?” the large figure who stood nearer to seven feet tall.

“Kill him, kill him I say!” Hidemasu shouted from where he stood a short distance behind the ancient seeming man.

“In due time, Hidemasu,” The first man sneered.

“Motonaga we revived you for a single purpose; to end the life of Yoshinobu!” Hidemasu snapped furiously.

“And to overthrow the Imperial Court in Miyako, do not forget that also!” Motonaga added hastily appearing on horseback a short distance from where Hidemasu stood now.

“Hidemasu you traitor!” Yoshinobu hissed.

Sneering back at him, Hidemasu made to advance upon the warrior, his face twisted with rage at the insult to his honour. Not much different in the crime he was guilty of having committed, Hidemasu however paled as Shinken the Abbot, the two of them having just arrived hither also. The pair was followed by a number of their supporters each of them armed with bows and naginatas, pole-arms of pure iron topped by blades made for slashing that shimmered in the little light that slithered past the cloud covered day. Seeing them it was with the most profound sense of sorrow that he must have realized the depth of his failures, the tragedy that had engulfed not only his men and people. A lesser man might well have wept at such a loss, yet not Yoshinobu he was far too dignified for such a display even up his last moments.

Armed though he was, the imposing Motonaga was to first humiliate his prisoner in the oldest and most popular of traditions amongst the foulest of Zipangu’s villains; that is to say that he severed then and there the topknot of Yoshinobu from which he was held.

Falling down thereupon the large hill of cadavers Yoshinobu was not to remain idle for long no matter how winded he truly was. Moved by the same fury that had seen him through countless battles all throughout the years of his adulthood he took up his katana, from where it was still sheathed and girt to his belt. The blade which had been forged in the age of Nohara no Masashige for that very warrior, by the smith Takatatsu, given just before the intrepid rebel’s genpuku it was said to have wrought untold misery upon him after he used it to put an end to the life of his sworn brother Hideki, after which he dubbed it Kazokiri. It was after the rebellion was put down that the court awarded the traitor’s sword to the then head of the Chōwa Takimoto Clan Yoshiharu who in turn passed it down to his son, Yoriie.

The katana forged from the bones of the black drake Kurotetsu the Ravenous which had never failed to lay low its victim stabbed its way through the side of the giant who loomed over him. Rather than fall to one side, or even do much more than hiss in pain and study his wound with a quizzical glance.

Seeing this and how his wound did not bleed as any other man’s might have, Yoshinobu felt his blood chill. “What in the name of the Kami are you?”

Motonaga did not deign to answer him. He preferred to resort to pulling the blade from his hands that he might turn it upon its master. After he had beheaded the Lord of Mittsu, he made certain to throw it and the blade to one side, no longer interested in either. Noticing how several of those around him moved to reclaim it, he grunted, “Leave it, lest we make of him a martyr.”

“But, he must suffer the same fate he inflicted upon my father!” Kanehito shouted outraged.

“He is right, Yoshinobu’s head must adorn the walls of Kitayama, tradition and honour demand it!” Hidemasu declared with no less passion.

Conceding after a moment’s thought, Motonaga was to say to them, “On condition that his head be all that you take north, before we sweep back south.”

Forced to go along with his whims as much out of courtesy as out of a desire not to be left as each one of them wished to savour some of the glory for themselves.

The head of the proud head of the Takimoto was to be carried through the whole of the lands to the north of Mittsu to the walls of the wooden fortress of the Emishi people ruled over by the Kiyomoto. Each of the Lords wished to carry themselves forward with as much dignity as possible, yet at their head was Motonaga whom carried the head of Yoshinobu aloft upon the end of his spear so that all knew who it was that had won them this grand victory. All who gathered cheered and let loose loud acclamations of victory overcome by joy, their cries echoed across all the lands of the Emishi.

*****

The celebrations went on for days, for it was the first to have been won on such a magnitude in centuries. What none noticed, caught up as they were in their revelry was the lone figure of Satomine weaving his through the city long after night had descended. Quite what it was that he had in mind even he did not know at first, yet the moment he drew near to where the head was mounted, he felt the axis of his being waver. It was only when he held the head of his hero that he succumbed at last to his grief.

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[1] Dono = lord

[2] Tono = Lord