The Way of the Sword

The Kitsu Tombs were a marvel of construction, dedication, and history. The meager resources of the Dragon allowed for few man-made structures, and Togashi Takumi could not recall any that felt as weighed by history as the home of the Kitsu family. His journey from Shiro Mirumoto, prompted by the arrival of a letter from a senior sodan-senzo, was short and relatively free of trouble. Takumi relished the opportunity to indulge in his studies of the ancient art of Niten. His mornings had been filled with the steady, practiced rhythms of the Niten kata and his evenings studying his copious notes on the practitioners of Niten that he’d encountered.

“You should be honored,” the Lion said. The man’s voice was bold, and echoed in the otherwise empty halls. Takumi was stunned out of his reverie. The man on his right glowed softly, and his hard eyes appraised the young Dragon samurai. Takumi was quietly impressed by the sheer stature and power that radiated from the man known as Kitsu Hikoyoshi. “It is rare for any samurai to journey into the spirit realms alongside a sodan senzo.” Takumi bowed.
“I appreciate the lengths you are going to, Kitsu-sama.” Hikoyoshi frowned, but Takumi could see the man’s stance change subtly. His respect had, perhaps, been earned.
“I do not want you to misunderstand, Togashi-san. What you seek may not be possible. I tell you this in all honesty, I do not want you to be disappointed.” The Lion’s voice was deep, and commanding. Takumi wondered idly if Hikoyoshi was more used to commanding men in battle than in the study he usually associated shugenja with. “I do not know why the Hantei granted you this request, and I do not wish to know. Spirits of the stature possessed by Mirumoto Hojatsu are not summoned nor contacted easily. You… you will need to prepare yourself. You will be walking under the gaze of all that have come before you.”
“I understand, Kitsu-sama.”
“Not yet, you don’t.” The pair reached an isolated room. Two tatami mats lay in its center, facing one another. Hikoyoshi strode through, confidently, and sat. He held his hand out, gesturing for Takumi to sit opposite him. The Dragon walked smoothly, kneeling into a practiced seiza. “You must empty your mind, Togashi-san. Your body is but an anchor for your spirit. The vessel you inhabit now cannot make the journey you desire. Only the truest form of you, of this thing called Togashi Takumi, can ascend to a higher realm. You must leave the flesh behind. Do you understand?” Takumi nodded, closing his eyes and turning inward. Meditation was a constant companion for him, and he had learned long ago the difference between the spirit and the body. He thought first of the sword, then of the Tao. Images flickered in his mind; a mountain, entwining dragons wreathed in smoky void, a boy in tattered clothes standing before a massive iron gate. At some point, he heard Hikoyoshi’s voice begin a strange chant, but the sound was far way.

“You have a rare talent,” the voice was deep, rumbling like thunder. Takumi turned from the gate, and felt something change. He looked down. He was himself, but more so. His armor was immaculate, free of even the slightest imperfection. His swords felt lighter, and he was surrounded by a soft glow. “It is unusual for any to separate the spirit and the body so quickly.” Takumi looked up, to see a form of Hikoyoshi that was physically perfect. He towered over the Dragon, and his eyes were slitted and hungry like some great cat.
“For one of the Dragon, Hikoyoshi-sama, the spirit and the body are one and the same. I can offer no better explanation.” He looked around, his eyes searching. “Where are we? This reminds me of Shiro Mirumoto, but…”
“This is a manifestation of a shared place. It is perhaps the only place in the world that both you and Hojatsu will know. You must understand, Togashi-san, I cannot guarantee that Hojatsu will come.”
Takumi’s eyebrows furrowed together in concentration. “Then what are we doing, Kitsu-sama?”
“I may not be able to guarantee that he will respond,” Hikoyoshi said smiling, “but I can knock on his door, as it were.” Takumi appeared confused, causing the old Lion’s grin to spread wide. “Very few Kitsu are able to learn this technique, even among the sodan-senzo. Including myself, there have been only six in the history of the empire.” Hikoyoshi said. He placed his hands on the Dragon’s shoulders, and closed his eyes. A prayer escaped his lips, a language that Takumi could not understand. “Where are we?” the Dragon asked, “This place is Shiro Mirumoto and it is not. It is everything Shiro Mirumoto would be, and is nothing like it at all. This realm, this temporary reality, is a shared dimension. Only a few will be able to access it.” The world around Takumi shifted and blurred. He saw an enormous man in the armor of the Dragon Champion, whose eyes shone like stars; then the familiar halls of Kyuden Togashi,,, then abruptly the visions stopped..

“Why are you here, Togashi-san?” Hojatsu asked. His voice was calm and level, his eyes staring down into what felt like Takumi’s soul. Disoriented, Takumi looked around him. He felt as a drunkard might, suddenly awaking into a strange environment. He was in one of the dojo of Shiro Mirumoto, the first he ever saw. He used the memories of his sensei to anchor him as he looked upon the son of the Dragon’s Thunder. Mirumoto Hojatsu was not an imposing figure by any standard. He stood, arms folded across his chest, but gave no air of anger. He glowed as the returned spirits did, but his was different than the flow around Kitsu Hikoyoshi. It was a silver tint, like starlight wrapping itself around him. Hojatsu’s hair was tied carefully back, his armor immaculate and clean. At his hip were swords that Takumi recognized as the Ancestral Daisho of the Dragon Clan. He gathered himself and bowed deeply.
“Learn to see what you are not meant to see,” answered Takumi. “You wrote the words, Hojatsu-sama.” The ancient Dragon nodded. “I have studied every text I could find on Niten. I have pored over Mirumoto Kojime’s edits and your initial work, still preserved in Shiro Mirumoto. I read the arcane writings of the Togashi, those few that have taken up the two swords. I have seen the edits written by the Iron Mountain Dojo, the Steel Soul Dojo, and those held at Foothills Keep. I have even read the copy of Niten commented by Ikoma Ototsu, one of their famed kensai masters.”
“You have read an impressive list of treatise, Togashi-san. You still have not answered my question.” Hojatsu’s displeasure was evident in his voice. “I would hate to think that you are wasting an Emperor’s time trying to impress me.”
“When you asked, I answered Hojatsu-sama. Learn to see what you are not meant to see. I read more than just Niten.”
“Oh?” came the voice of a strange man in the back of the dojo. Takumi’s eyes flicked to the man for just a moment. Something familiar in the way he sat, in the way he carried himself. He looked thoroughly unpleasant, his eyebrows and eyes wild and his hair unkempt. He would be a beggar in any part of the empire, yet...
“There are dozens of accounts of your duel with Kakita. Crane and Dragon accounts are the easiest to come by, but there are many more. Your duel remains the most popular in the history of Rokugan.” Hojatsu frowned, but said nothing. “All of the accounts agree that you mortally wounded Kakita, and in so doing died yourself Hojatsu-dono.”
“The details of my death do not interest me, Togashi-san.” Hojatsu’s voice was flat, and in it Takumi could feel his reproach.
“Only one offered a different account of events. The account of Akodo Mirotai, preserved in the Ikoma Libraries. He described in exacting detail the strike executed against Kakita. He said it was a sight that brought tears to his eyes, a perfect expression of the soul of the warrior. It is said that Akodo Mirotai was the first Lion to achieve enlightenment, and I believe he glimpsed it in your duel with Kakita. In his words, it was as if the sun and moon were yoked by the hands of man.”
“I fail to see how the wisdom of a Lion is enough to bring you before me.” Kitsu Hikoyoshi sniffed at the insult, but said nothing more.
“No strike matching that description is discussed in any version of Niten I have read, Hojatsu-sama.” Takumi looked up, into Hojatsu’s eyes. The challenge was clear. “Niten is incomplete. The final technique is not recorded. The penultimate strike; Niten Ryu Ougi. No one else can teach it.”
“Are you calling me a liar, Togashi?” There was an edge to Hojatsu’s voice, and his stance shifted. “You dare say, to me, in this place far from where either of us should be, that I would leave my work undone?”
Takumi looked to Kitsu Hikoyoshi, whose form sat impassively. His eyes swept to the strange man in the back of the dojo, who wore a toothy smile. Then, finally, he locked his eyes with those of Mirumoto Hojatsu. “ I do,” Takumi replied. “I cannot lie here, to you, in this place or any. I do not know if it was intentional or not, but the truth is there if you look for it. Niten Ryu Ougi has been lost for a thousand years. The true Niten has not been grasped.”
Hojatsu’s face twisted into a scowl. “You do not know what you claim, Togashi Takumi. A millennia of Dragon samurai studied Niten. Masters taught students from my text for generation after generation. You dare say that these men and women, some of them the greatest warriors of their age, were wrong?”
Takumi looked away, not wishing to show his uncertainty to the ancestor. Sweat beaded his brow and his mind raced in a search for answers. “I,,,” he began as Hojatsu took a step forward. He was within striking distance, now, his leading foot a giveaway to his intent. If Takumi spoke wrong now, he would die. “I cannot speak for their Niten, Hojatsu-dono. Complete or not, the wisdom of Niten serves the Dragon long after your lifetime.”
“Then what is it you have seen, Togashi-san?” Hojatsu’s voice was different, and lacked none of the danger it had a moment ago. Takumi closed his eyes, steadying his breathing.
“I have seen that wisdom comes from many mouths but the same source. Kakita’s The Sword, your Niten, the Tao of Shinsei… These are all saying the same thing. There is a Tao beyond the swords, beyond combat and ritual. I have seen glimpses of it, in the moments I am closest to understanding.”
“And now, you begin to see.” Takumi looked up, and Mirumoto Hojatsu was smiling. “Why do you want this Niten Ryu Ougi, Togashi Takumi?”
“My understanding is incomplete, like Niten. I do not know how to proceed. When I realized that there was a hole in Niten, I felt that it explained the hole in my self. If I could bridge the gap in Niten, then perhaps… I was a fool to ask this, to speak as I have. How could I pretend to have wisdom to share when I am so far from it?”
“You are someone who has proven themselves worthy of my attention and time, Togashi Takumi. Your understanding can begin, if you are ready.” Hojatsu looked to Hikoyoshi. Though the Kitsu remained immobile, sweat dripped from him. The shugenja’s eyes were closed, screwed together. Mantras passed his lips wordlessly. Togashi Takumi stood, and Hojatsu regarded him. “What you know as Niten Ryu Ougi cannot be taught. I have had a thousand years to refine it, and if you had ten lifetimes you could not know it.” Takumi’s face betrayed his On, and the sadness that gripped him was palpable. “Yet it is not my wisdom that you seek, it is your own. That… that I can help.” The young swordsman looked at Hojatsu, his confusion evident. “If you study and practice, you will find Niten Ryu Ougi as I did. Perhaps your technique will be mine, perhaps it will be different, but either way the wisdom will be yours.”
“I underst-” Takumi paused, turned away, and then looked again to Hojatsu. “I hope to understand, Hojatsu-dono.”
“Then let us begin,” the elder Dragon said. Swiftly, the two assumed a Niten stance, both swords held at the ready. The strange man in the back of the room laughed, but to the two swordsmen there was no one else in the room. Takumi’s stance was less easy than Hojatsu’s, his swords gripped by a thousand years of traditions and the writings of countless masters. Hojatsu’s stance was loose and his swords pointed low, but the stance belied the master’s readiness. Takumi read every inch of the ancestor’s stance, studying every shift and movement.
“You will only see this once, Togashi-san,” said Hojatsu. Takumi tensed, and Hojatsu moved. He was like water and fire, earth and air, like the sun and moon together. His swords lashed out, and all was black.

Takumi awoke, his head on a pillow. His entire body was sore, as though he’d been exercising for hours. He stared at the wooden ceiling above him, noticing for the first time trails of incense smoke. He moved his head slowly, and saw Kitsu Hikoyoshi. The old Lion nodded, and for the first time Takumi could see the weight of ages the shugenja bore. Terrible responsibilities lined the other man’s face, but with them Takumi could sense the respect the man held for him. “Impressive, Takumi-san. I did not think the spirits would answer your request for an audience, bold as it was. To ask for a man of Hojatsu’s stature… it shows a boldness I couldn’t expect from a Dragon.”
Takumi’s throat was dry, his lips cracked as though he had not had water for days. “I am happy to surprise you, Kitsu-sama,” the young Dragon replied.
“You must rest. The journey is taxing even for one used to it. The servants will take care of you until you are well enough to leave.” Takumi nodded, and Hikoyoshi stood as if to leave. The returned spirit hesitated, then said, “did you find what you were looking for, Takumi-san?”

The Togashi could only smile at the question.