Zokugawa 2 Chapter 4: As Dark And Still
Two Months Ago
First of Hachigatsu, Natsu 1625. Twenty-First year under the Bogo Shogunate.
August-First, Summer, 1625. Leaps Estate. Kozuke.
Summer brought with it a sweltering heat, the warmest of living memory, or at least the recurrent droughts made it feel that way. The harvest was growingly unimpressive even for their own fields which benefited from lowland rivers, creeks and lakes, they now resembled the poor quality that several of the other fiefs had been reporting in their yearly stipends. The smell of meat was an affliction of the worsening condition, even with her stomach grumbling, a mix of hunger and natural disgust at the offending scent. Judy, like many within her camp, her species or her order as prey were forced to take to the slightly more plentiful fish rations from the imperial docks of Zootopia. The farms throughout their provinces were being tended by too few paws and hooves, mothers, children and others unable to be afforded to the war effort.
Two years now had left their stocks depleted, or in rice banks in powerful trade provinces, such as Yamashiro, who had banned their holders from honoring withdraws by order of the then Daimyo; Lord Fangmeyer, Judy's own once impressive estate and the produced food stipend were now locked away to rice holders outside her reach due to the continued conflicts or in the form of gold ryu that was spent in unbalanced trades for increasingly expensive koku. This required the difficult choice of reliving soldiers so that they could return to their respective fiefs, to their farms and artisans to their crafts, pardoned by her authority to avoid the repercussions of desertion.
This helped quell the issue of shortage of food supplies while they entrenched ready for more battle, though the loss of soldiers was only barely easier to manage considering what few warriors she still maintained were in constant demand from the Shogun. Irony, Judy thought. The more she won the more often her ranks were torn apart for competent lieutenants and skilled combatants, a facet of Bogo's visibly worsening proclivity for war. Judy looked over to the fish, as appetizing as her fox servant could make it, garnishments and sauces to help dissipate the taste of flesh. She still disliked it, but stomached the flavor all the same as any of the meals afforded.
Her short break home allowed her the luxury of taking her meal in a more comfortable setting; the shade of a familiar, oaken tree surrounded by the farmlands of the now noble family, clan Leaps. A glance showed their once lush lands, the first time they had been unable to meet yearly expectations of stipends. Lack of rain, long winters and just as cruel a summer during war times all combined for a horrible harvest.
Surrounded by her personal guards, the pride of which being her younger brother; Brian who was now fourteen and missing half of his left ear. Horrified herself by the wound, the small brown furred rabbit on the other paw seemed to enjoy the mark of honor from his first experience of battle, an ambush at their camp in the northern plains. From that moment on, the young squire was inseparable from the conflicts, a spectacle that already garnered rumors and attention for his feats in battle. An artifact from the short but unique tutelage from Nick, the unusually talented ronin himself. For two months he bonded with the fox, learning from him the skills that Nick had pick up from the late master Orsa herself. He was younger then, physically and mentally, and Nick admired the familial bond he shared with the young squire who often spent time reading and writing for the inhibited mammal, himself unable with his lack of sight. At first he caught chiding remarks from well meaning soldiers. Brian quickly took to the banter with a challenge, smug as the badger soldier was with his comments, remarks of the like ended as quickly as the blink of an eye it took for the larger mammal to find themselves disoriented and confused from the flat of their back, the smaller rabbit victorious with a challenging grin of his own.
She inhaled through her nose with what relief it still managed to give her, as these moments were sparse but greatly appreciated reprieves from the war that felt so far from the reach of the green grass and wind softened fields. At first she had hoped that winter would grant small moments where the war wouldn't reach them but was quickly proven otherwise when the thickly grown, woolen soldiers simply shrugged off the cold, while even the snow in the northern mountainous passes didn't seem to stop them from their south bound raiding and battles, though it still slowed them down and discouraged some raiding with the still worse footing the terrain offered.
The constant of the droughts seemed to affect them only slightly less than her own side of the war, as several banners had not been seen in the last few battles. An effect, possibly of Judy's own making, as spies were mobilized, discovering and corroborating the rumors and stories of Bellwethers own clan being responsible for several of the attacks, thefts and arsons on some of the northern clans rice stocks. Carefully planned couriers were dispatched and the intended result appeared to be the reduced forces of their enemies. It greatly helped balance the numbers as less than a fourth of the forces of the shogunates loyal vassals had come to their aid and answered their call. Several -understandably- were experiencing heavy starvation throughout their lands, they sent whatever they could offer from spices and silks, to linens and armors. Still, Judy felt a smile sweep across her face as the attacks grew fewer and longer in between, and she felt in her core that the war was coming to its end... soon.
Judy grasped at the moment of hope, fearful of losing it in her day of relaxation and daydreaming. She quickly took to a second small table in front of her, the set parchment being the latest of her series of messages. She couldn't say for sure how many she had written, having lost count months before. Looking back, they felt like a chronicle of the stages of war, an almost historical assessment of her personal dealings within it and all her thoughts encompassed on them. She moved to wet the brush, her thoughts taken away with her, her motion lacking dexterity when she accidently knocked over the small well of ink. Her reactions served to be even more comical, as she managed only to catch the bottle top-sided, its contents pouring liberally across and through her paw, before puddling just under it on the ground. "Judy-sama?" came a friendly tone from her loyal guard, her friend, her brother, Brian. He had grown professional and curt, and at times she missed his childlike, innocent demeanor as it reminded her of simpler, calmer times. She began to giggle while her younger brother tilted his head curiously. "Master Judy?" he asked more cautiously in his confusion.
"Just being clumsy, don't worry Brian-san." She answered with a surprising ambivalence, she stared at the ink soaked paw that took on a growing dark hue as the liquid saturated the fur and its familiar appearance.
That Same Moment
First of Hachigatsu, Natsu 1625. Twenty-First year under the Bogo Shogunate.
August-First, Summer, 1625. Northern Taka. Harima.
The air was heavy and humid, the northeast bound winds bringing the salted air from the ocean with it. The heat coming with the sea breeze was compounded further by the marsh like terrain of the almost uninhabitable northeastern region of Taka in Harima that bordered the two warring provinces. The conditions were inconsequential once the fighting had begun. Since the sun had risen, the sight of banners in blacks and reds collided with the likes of banners in oranges and greys, the field had tapered from lines of warring factions into singular duels amongst the broken, battered remains of warriors. Again clan Fangmeyer and their rebellion had pushed further into the reputable coastal province of Harima, where clan Wilde and their loyal vassals made them pay a tremendous cost for each step of ground the tiger clan and their allies marched.
Bodies were marred by dirt and blood, pelts of red, orange or assorted colors were barely recognizable in the piles they formed, well within the thousands before the sun even reached its peak. Wolf, lion, tiger, fox, and countless other various and vicious species were as predatory as they could be for the ground beneath their feet. They clashed onward in a brutal showing of superiority, proudly hoisting their sigils and flaunting them across the horizon line with undue veneration. One, still living figure at the forefront of the battle, held himself aloft over the thickly pressed mud around him with tired legs and weary arms. The murky terrain that crusted over every layer of his armor, the thick linen fabric of his hakama weighted, his emblem no longer visible on the breast of his haori, the white embroidered visage just as covered in dirt and grime as the rest of his amalgamated form. Exhaustion wracked his frame, loud sounds rattled around him as his black tipped ears shot from one offending noise to the next, this was the best sense left to him when he pulled himself up into a crawl. The sounds of clashing steel, war cries of the weary and the guttural sounds of flesh being tenuously parted in severing slashes.
"I expected… More?" Both ears marked his regal, tiger opponent for importance, no longer following the surrounding battleground, they settled on the mocking, challenged tone in front of him. A width of the field had opened up to the two samurai. Thick footfalls fell into the ground in front of him, heavy in each time he lifted his larger hindpaws. So the featureless soldier rose, his form taking to its silhouette; long tail at the end of auburn fur, tipped in black like a brush before its task. Proudly he stepped to his full height. He was tall among his species, alpha… an informal title granted for his nobility and his parentage.
The blinded fox tapered his breaths defiantly at his present enemy only a couple paces ahead of him. The mud he was only moments before clamored in dislodged by its own weight and fell in unceremonious chunks to the ground. The plates of his spaulders shown by the sun's light overhead, in it revealing the image of the red fox of clan Wilde, making itself visible in its gleam. The armor was deeply, intricately etched and embroidered, fine craftsmanship for the clan risen from swordsmiths. He moved to begin to clear away portions of the mud, revealing an unmistakable set in every part. From his similarly charcoal hued hindpaws that steepled in the muck -cleanliness having no place in combat- to his helm whose crimson face mask ended at the nose of his muzzle.
"Gaaah!" The tiger adversary roared in rage at the loss of his patience, the fox reacted in kind at the sound of his moving armor, bereft his sight. The two noble warriors clashed with single slashes traded in that moment among the chaos. Steel met steel for only an instant, exemplified by their wills when the swords settled into their respective stances again. The tigers sword of predator irons was finely forged and spoke to this fact in the sound it made. The fox's sword knew no equal in its melody, red hewn handle cradled the steel that did not speak, it instead whispered breathless a song, the makers mark of clan Wilde just above its guard as its resonating sound overtook the tiger lord's own proud weapon.
The guttural snarl of jealousy the tiger lord let out brought a smirk to the greying fox. He couldn't see them but he knew the colors of the grey and orange uniformed mammal in front of him. The voice he also knew was that of Daimyo Fangmeyer, or as present the high-lord's son when he took that mantle by force from his father almost a month ago, heir in birthright and blood, an ancient tradition held by the powerful clan that ruled from their seat of Edo in the west. The tiger was known for his rage and in that moment it again took its place on his countenance as he lunged -snarling and infuriated- for the fox. An enraged animal was as predictable as they were dangerous, the fox warrior knew. The first slash was predicted, parried and followed by another that again, he moved to administer his sword to block but the form of his opponent was refined and still in its prime, neither property the weathered warrior himself could claim to be.
The vulpines untrained sense of sound caught the crack of thunder, it roared loud in succession, his knowledge quickly told him they were allied rifles but his instincts warned him too late for the mistake of his wavering attentions. The loud sound left him no chance to parry the next accompanying slash the tiger performed, to his surprise he felt the impact against his studiously prepared blade. He wasn't given a moment to be grateful though as a preceding slash met just above his greaves cutting between the chain covered joints at the back of his knee. He grit his teeth and snarled before lashing out in the direction of the would be assailant, no impact on his blade before his right leg gave out, forcing him to kneel again in the mud.
His hearing returned with a ringing sensation, the first prevalent sound being the smug snicker at the edge of the tigers tone when Fangmeyer scoffed at him. His motion was tactful and slow as he raised his sword in the direction of the opposing warlord, the distance it offered, he knew, wouldn't be enough if Fangmeyer chose to press the advantage. He was left in a worthless stalemate, the tiger seemed to revel in his pain but would not allow him to try and better his own chances by clearing the mud from his visor or clasping his freshly cut leg shut to hinder the bleeding.
"I'm so disappointed, all these years I really thought this moment would be more satisfying," the tiger sighed. For all he said, Wilde could tell by the way the tiger was toying around in the fight, from the way he moved to extend his own suffering with intentionally non-lethal strikes. A second volley echoed to which the foxes ears instinctively sought out the alarming sound, before he had the chance to even react to his mistake his wrist gave a sickening crack under the grasp of the tiger, forcing him to drop his sword. He held his tongue, fighting to avoid the groans of agonizing pain he felt, the very sounds his enemy wanted from him. He felt himself lifted from the ground against his protesting, broken appendage before; for the second time in their duel, his body was torqued into the mud with a painful throw from the tiger.
He felt the sensations of his limbs blip out for a moment, a solitary, horrifying moment of unconsciousness as his body listlessly thrashed in its impact with the mud before his mind returned to him, fighting through the pain he felt radiating from his body. His chest heaved with shallow rapid breaths, his wrist, he felt at the way it twinged was beyond use, his legs were sore, among them the sharp pain on the right one that was cut as warm blood seeped from it further down on his leg. His stomach tensed against growing discomfort from its own forming bruises and whatever breaks or cracks he would only guess were under it's surface. He continued to grit, constantly wanting to open his eyes to assess the situation and the damage but knowing he couldn't. Still, he clenched his jaw and huffed breaths through the vents of his snarling fangs, the tiger again just looming over him with the sound of the same snide scoff, without vision he could still imagine the creatures arrogant smirk.
"Lord Wilde!" his ear turned to the sound. "Over there, protect high-lord Wilde!" The order came loud and clear and Fangmeyer roared in fury, the plates of the tiger's armor could be heard as he raised his clenched paw, sword at the ready. He prepared his final strike on the awaiting opponent, but was cut off by single, hurried rifle shots, so close and loud that his ears ached and the heat from the black powder was felt on his fur. The tiger snarled and staggered, his claws digging into the mud, he took heavy foot falls back towards his side of the battlefield, fleeing from the approaching soldiers and their ensuing black powdered rounds.
He could hear several soldiers surround him, garrisoning him behind a line of skilled warriors, the front line of their army. "There you are, we lost you in the fray." The voice of the wolf lord said, propping his friend up, earning him a heaved, pained moan in the process. Finally given the chance he removed his helmet, having some trouble lifting away the mask from his muzzle. With his good paw he quickly dislodged the mud that encased just under its surface. Cream colored fur on his lower jaw met auburn fur of his upper jaw, both fading into greyer tones at where his dried lips met, he cleared the dirt from his eyes carefully. He opened his lids cautiously, gold speckled green orbs looked over the field statically, then at his old friend, Daimyo Snarlof. "Daimyo Wilde, why did you leave your guard... John?" The wolf lord asked with furrowed brows, quickly realizing quickly he only had the minimal attentions of his friend, who looked around franticly.
He looked growingly concerned where he expected relief in being saved, "Lord Snarlof; My son, have you seen Nick?" Wilde rasped out, wincing at the pain in his chest. "He was last seen around here?" The tone was worried, as fearful as John Wilde always was when it came to the subject of his son, years of the boys unknown path as a ronin had caused that paranoia. He looked up from their place at the decimated eastern vanguard, the surrounding guards and soldiers successfully pushing the opposing forces back further along the hillside. Victory was close to being claimed by their side that day, but when he glanced over the field he only found a swath of bodies of their flanked army amongst a sea of white feathered arrows. "Have you seen him, is he safe?" John begged, Snarlof quickly steeled his expression at the possible realization "If Nick was in their ranks-"
An unskilled sea of white feathered arrows were the enemies reply to their stalwart hold, it was rare for any predator to wield a bow, the feline species had the often forgettable ability to retract their claws. This reduced the chances of accidentally cutting the bow string and gave them the unusual advantage to use bows,though even then it was uncommon. The predator clans and noble families within the western provinces more commonly prefered the skill of their blades, while rifles saw use among their ashigaru, adopting them from the invaders they had warred against over the last couple hundred years. This one time though they made the mistake of doubting that longbows would be used, the repetitious nature of the longbow allowing a more constant volley that punished their hold of the field. Their own rifles which after single shots acted as long spears that they used to hold the line of the larger mammalian army.
Snarlof took another look around the field, offering him a moment to correct his expression, a hope it would be enough to convince the distraught warrior, "I'm sure he's fine John," he encouraged his old friend "You're a mess, let's get you back and get your wounds tended," immediately the fox lord prepared to argue. "The enemy is routed, once the field is cleared i'm sure he'll make his way back to camp." He said as reassuringly as he could, he didn't even believe himself, but the fox lord who was always so keen on the tones of others just nodded, so willing to grasp at whatever hope he could find. Between their personal guard and the pressing of their front line they had no trouble falling back from the battle. Wilde hobbled with help from the wolf lord who tried to avoid any telling sights of the decimated eastern vanguard, the all but destroyed vanguard that was tasked with holding its line against the tiger lords attempts to route them with their powerful feline cavalry.
Less than a hundred paces from where Daimyo Wilde was led away from the field lay the conclusion of his inane excursion into that damned easternmost warfield, there rest a helmet. Black-layered plates met at a crest of the moon at the front, an honored symbol of the wolf clan's dojo and their species as nocturnal mammals. The long protective portion meant for the muzzle met at a visor, unique in that it did not act to shield the eyes from the sun, but instead the visor seemed to entirely cut off whatever view its wielder would have, useless to its intended owner's eyes. Instead it had green markings painted in place of where his eyes would have been. The helm was instantly recognizable in the set it mirrored, embroidered and impressive in its design, it made no mistake that it belonged to the line of clan Wilde, but its red facetings were not alone in their dark amber hue.
Beside the helm rest an arm, lifeless and without motion. It's exposed auburn fur faded at the end of a paw that was as dark and still as blackened ink. His body still warmed by the summer sun that barely met a challenge in the noon clouds overhead. Awash in the dotting remnants of arrows whose fletching acted like that of guiding beacons to the waves of fallen samurai. He would never be able to convey the messages of a rabbit a world away or take to the task of its heartfelt reply. Death instead took him to the next life peaceably, the expression that marred his pristine lifeless countenance was one of contentment and pride in the smile that adorned his muzzle, a visible yellow sheen seen just at the edges of barely open lids in their final resting state.
