Distant Thunder: Chapter 9

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The Twenty-fifth Day of the Month of Shinjo, 1137

Miya Rintaro was a man of simple pleasures, and it grated on him somewhat that so many were denied him today. He often enjoyed warm sake and rice cakes as an after-dinner repast, but he had recently noticed that drinking wine was giving him heartburn; as a result, his personal physician had strongly recommended a switch to gentle teas, and his wife had been extremely thorough in instructing the household servants to follow this dictate to the letter. At the same time, his daughters would often entertain him and his guests with song while they let their meals settle, a fine treat indeed as he had arranged for them to attend the Kakita Artisan Academy for three years; tonight, however, their favorite serving girl had gone into labor, and they had insisted on being at the girl's side until her delivery. Perhaps most frustrating, however, was the sudden shift in the weather, whose cool wind and sudden dark clouds had marked the annual end of Rintaro's long-established habit of taking his meals in his garden. This was hardly a surprise, of course, and the weather could interrupt any springtime dinner just as easily, but there was an air of finality to these clouds that Rintaro recognized as marking the last time he would see his beloved trees and paths while he ate until the long months of winter were finally past.

Truth be told, these minor annoyances put him more on edge than they should have. The cause, of course, was evident, and Rintaro did not pretend otherwise, even to himself. It is simply that hosting an Emperor in one's home, even a former one, made everything seem more… significant.

Hantei Okucheo, once ruler of Rokugan before his death, now returned to the Empire through Oblivion's Gate, was a tall, imposing man, with sharp eyes and sternly handsome features. He had arrived two days before, calling upon the hospitality of the Miya family while he completed the purchase of a residence within Otosan Uchi, and Rintaro had eagerly taken him in. In those two days, however, Okucheo had spoken little to Rintaro or any in the house, spending most of the time in the rooms Rintaro had given him, writing letters, or occasionally praying at the small shrine that stood in the center of Rintaro's garden. Rintaro had made no attempts to break into this isolation; what the Hantei did was their choice, and no Miya would consider questioning it. Finally, though, Okucheo had requested that he and Rintaro have dinner this evening, and Rintaro had gone to arrange it – only to discover how many things he wanted he could not have that night.

In an effort to make up for what he was missing as much as he could, Rintaro had chosen to host Okucheo in a parlor near the garden, leaving the doors open for the smell of the plants and heavy scent of rain coming; large fires burned in hearths at either end of the large room, beating back the late fall chill as it crept through the doorway. Okucheo had not given any sign that he noticed or cared about the surroundings, but Rintaro found that they made him feel better prepared for this encounter.

"Rintaro-san," the former Emperor said smoothly, "please allow me to express my appreciation for your generous hospitality. You have been most forthcoming with both your friendship and your resources, and I wish you to know that it has not gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, I am also pleased to tell you: my agents have informed me that final negotiations for my personal estates are completed. As such, tonight will be our last evening together."

"Hantei-sama," replied Rintaro, bowing his head at the praise, "your presence is an honor that my household shall never forget. What little I have put forth is as nothing when compared to your worthiness. You are too kind to accept my paltry offerings, and I assure you, should you wish to visit my house again, you will find my hospitality far better suited to your greatness."

Okucheo smiled, waving the matter aside. "Let us not spend our last evening together in overwrought congratulation, my friend. I would not waste such a valuable moment for such trifles."

"As you wish, Hantei-sama," Rintaro replied at once. He paused, casting about for a suitable topic, but Okucheo apparently already had one in mind.

"You will recall, Rintaro-san, that when we spoke last spring I broached the subject of a group of samurai to act as the eyes and ears of the Imperial families during these… difficult… times?" At Rintaro's nod, the returned spirit continued, "I took the time at the funeral of Kaede to recruit some suitable candidates to act on your behalf." Okucheo pulled a small scroll from his sleeve and laid it on the table. "They should prove most helpful going forward."

Rintaro picked up the scroll and tucked it into his own sleeve. "My thanks, Hantei-sama. I have made some inquiries myself, and I too believe I have found samurai to help us." He paused for a moment, wondering if it was safe to broach his next thought, but decided to risk the probing question. "I understand that you spoke on behalf of Toturi when he returned from seclusion, and were the first to greet him. May I ask what you learned from this meeting?"

Okucheo did not answer right away, looking instead out the window at the dark clouds looming on the horizon over Otosan Uchi. When he finally answered, it was in a wistful, contemplative voice. "I spoke to Toturi, yes, and many other samurai as well. The picture I assembled from those pieces was of an Empire on the edge of a great precipice. Toturi is a brave man and a strong leader, but already the foundations of his rule crumble at the edges; the samurai who spoke to me had fear in their eyes and uncertainty in their hearts. They do not know what Kaede's death portends for the Empire, nor what it means to have their ancestors walking among them. While the core of Toturi's empire remains strong, these tiny cracks may yet widen into vast gulfs that will swallow him whole."

"What does that mean for us, Hantei-sama?" asked Rintaro.

Okucheo's eyes refocused on the Miya's, and they were suddenly filled with a terrible intensity of purpose. "It means, Rintaro-san, that we have work to do."

Before Rintaro could ask for details, a sudden gust of wind shook the paper screens, and a blast of thunder rattled them again mere seconds later. "Forgive me, Hantei-sama," Rintaro said, leaping to close the doors himself rather than wait for a servant to do it and risk rain on his fine rugs. "There is a storm coming," he added apologetically, already regretting the final loss of his beloved garden for the season.

Okucheo, however, seemed to be thinking of something else even as he answered, "I know, Rintaro-san. And it is only the first; there will be worse to come."