12th Day of Flocktime, 565 CY
The Brass Dragon Inn, Furyondy
Outside, the Brass Dragon was closed.
Once again, the twin signs, located southeast and northwest of the inn alongside the road, were in place to warn travelers off. A light southerly wind teased the fabric strips on both signs into intermittent fluttering.
Towards the east, the sun slowly tore itself loose from the horizon. The young stable boy frowned and squinted at the brilliant orange ball. Although it was painting the underside of a mostly cloudy sky a beautiful shade of crimson, the youth noticed only a hot, sticky feeling. He grumbled as he headed away from the inn, pushing a crude wheelbarrow filled with soiled hay.
Although the other staff members of the Brass Dragon had been confined to their underground quarters for the next hour, at least they were inside, he thought.
Several hundred yards from the inn, the lad dumped his load and began to head back.
One thing he had noticed was the absence of any tents or shelterdomes from the vicinity of the property. For the first time in weeks, none of the Sir Dorbin party were present, the last of them having departed last night. From the scuttlebutt he had heard from the other servants though, the stable boy knew that they were due to return at some point. Although all of the Brass Dragon's true owners were once again in residence, the rumors were that it was not going to be for long.
The youth shrugged as he headed back towards the stables. He had no particular preference between the two groups, as they both treated him very well. As long as Caroline Bigfellow was here, he was happy. A few days past his eleventh birthday himself, the stable boy considered Argo's young wife to be the best-looking thing to look at for thirty miles around in any direction.
Of course, now that her husband had returned, the boy had hardly seen Caroline. The Bigfellows were spending nearly all of their time together in their cabin, although he knew that all of the owners were currently inside the inn for what he presumed was some kind of secret conference. Apparently, it was so important that they had made it impossible for any of the help to even pass through the common room for the next hour.
The youth sighed and wiped his forehead with a dingy rag as he headed back into the stables.
Something told him it was going to be an uncomfortable day.
Inside, the Brass Dragon was quiet.
The center of the common room had been cleared of tables and chairs. Six thick blankets had been folded up and placed equidistantly in a semicircle around the center of the empty space. One additional blanket lay in the dead center.
Caroline Bigfellow frowned, remembering six people standing around a funeral pyre.
She glanced around the room. It wasn't that she expected to see anything that hadn't been there since her last look thirty seconds prior; she just felt nervous.
Actually, she felt terrified.
Caroline squeezed her husband's left hand that she was holding in her right, and once again received a reassuring squeeze in return.
The Bigfellows, Elrohir, Talass, Cygnus and Zantac were standing in a line just to the right of the blanket circle, stiffly facing the staircase that led upstairs.
All six of them were wearing thin, gray cotton robes that Tojo had purchased in Chendl. A type of night robe that fastened with a belt, they were the closest things the samurai had been able to find to the yukata robes that were traditional for this type of ceremony. Many of them were a very loose fit, their friend having made guesses as to their size.
And when in doubt he had guessed large.
A single lit candle sat on each of the remaining tables in the common room. Next to each was a small wrapped bundle of dried herbs, placed on a metal plate. Each bundle was burning very slowly, sending a thin stream of fragrant smoke rising into the air, where it merged into a slowly growing fog hugging the ceiling. One table also held a teapot and eight mugs.
Aslan's head appeared at the top of the staircase as he leaned down to address his companions below.
"He'll be ready soon," the paladin announced. "Only a few minutes now."
And he was gone again to attend to Tojo.
There were no prohibitions against any of the six speaking to each at this time, but no one could bring themselves to break the thick silence. Instead, they all turned inward, desperately throwing their attention anywhere but the here and now.
Elrohir scanned the walls of the inn furiously, as if trying to see any cracks that might have escaped the notice of Monsrek's stone shape spells. It was ironic, he mused, that the same prayer that had saved his life had also saved the "life" of his home. He again offered silent thanks to the All-Father for the presence of the priest of Trithereon at the inn in the early morning hours of the 4th day of Flocktime.
Of course, he knew that was something of an exaggeration. Caroline had told them all (repeatedly) the story; how she had awoken to find the walls of the Bigfellow cabin swaying, and her bed shaking as the earth rumbled beneath her. It had lasted perhaps a minute, and then she had gone outside. The inn was still standing, as was Aslan's cabin, although all three buildings had sustained some minor structural damage. About half of the Sir Dorbin party, including Monsrek, was camped outside. They had let Caroline spend the night under one of their shelterdomes. The young woman had barely slept, curled in a near-fetal position, clutching onto Grock tightly while listening to the murmuring of Sitdale and Wescene.
In the morning, Monsrek had started casting the stone shape prayers to repair the damage that had been done and that, supposedly, was that.
But it wasn't that simple. Aslan's relayed remarks between Blackthorn and Markessa about the "Earth Dragon" had the party leader distracted ever since he had heard them. As he was all too willing to remind Aslan, both of them had heard that name before.
The samurai indicated the land around them. "Negacha Province, in Nippon. Powerfur earthquake, many years ago. Rand rook much rike this," he indicated, then eyed his party leader. "Dao Rung. Evir spirit."
Dao Rung. The Earth Dragon.
Elrohir's mind raced. Could they really be one and the same? The same entity inhabiting both Aarde and Oerth? And what was it exactly? "Evir spirit" was rather vague, at least to someone like Elrohir. Was it actually some kind of dragon? A fiend?
A god?
Elrohir tried to calm himself. Stop getting yourself all worked up, the ranger told himself. Just ask Tojo about it later.
And then he remembered what he had been trying to forget. Once again, he had been a fool.
Tojo may have no "later," he realized.
Cygnus saw nothing in front of him. He heard nothing around him.
The magic-user was completely absorbed in thinking about his own death.
Which apparently, had already happened.
"They were here, Cygnus," Caroline had blurted out, as they had been having dinner two nights ago. It had been Cygnus' first day back home, and from the reactions of Argo, Elrohir and Talass, she had not told anybody else yet. Zantac and Tojo were still back at Chendl, and Aslan was sleeping in his cabin, having retired early.
Bigfellow had immediately looked down at her lap, as if ashamed of what she had said.
The tall mage looked at her curiously, his mug of ale suspended halfway to his lips.
"Who?"
Caroline glanced over to her husband, whose face remained impassive, but took her hand in his for support. She took a deep breath before replying, still avoiding the wizard's curious gaze.
"Saxmund, Aelfbi, and Garoidil."
Four surprised faces looked at Caroline, then at each other, and finally at the other three figures sitting at the table with them.
Sitdale nodded. "It's true," the half-elf confirmed. "It was the 17th day of Planting- perhaps the 18th, I forget. They showed up, took some drinks, some traveling food, and then they were gone."
He finished, but Cygnus knew there was more. "Kingus wasn't with them?" the mage asked.
Caroline shook her head softly. Her hazel eyes were large with sadness as she finally looked back up at the wizard.
"No."
"Saxmund said they had planned to visit the Valorous Temple to find out about getting back to Rolex," Wescene said after a brief pause. The elf glanced over to Caroline, seeking some kind of unspoken permission to continue. The young woman nodded her head almost imperceptibly and looked down again, apparently too nervous to hold Cygnus' gaze.
"Kingus had gone on ahead to the temple while the others remained behind," the elf continued, swallowing hard. "He never came back, and when the others went there to ask about Kingus, Jinella told them he had never arrived. They decided to pool their resources and request a divination from the church to discover his whereabouts."
Wescene took a long drink of her goblet of wine. She swirled the remnants in her cup, staring at them, apparently reluctant to go on.
Cygnus was suddenly sorry Caroline had broached this entire topic. "And what did the divination reveal?" he asked tight-lipped, annoyed that he had to push the conversation along like this.
At that point, Flond, having sat in his usual morose stupor all night, suddenly decided to give voice to his first utterance of the evening.
"Nothing. It failed."
Elrohir, Argo and Talass stiffened, involuntarily drawing in sharp breaths.
Cygnus' eyes went wide. His mug of ale dropped from his hand, spilling on the table. The magic-user's hands gripped the edge of the round table, trying to stop the violent trembling of his body.
Talass, sitting to the wizard's left, grabbed his arm. "Cygnus? What's wrong?"
But Cygnus wasn't seeing her. He was adrift in a dark blue sea, watching as an indistinct figure, bound hand and foot, slowly sank further and further beneath him.
And from below, another dark shape began to grow larger. Cygnus could see two glowing red eyes...
"Cygnus!"
The mage blinked. He was back, but he was still shaking. And now he was cold.
Too cold.
"Cygnus, are you all right?" It was Talass who was closest to him, the priestess placing her hand on the wizard's forehead and frowning at the cold clamminess she encountered. Her eyes roamed over Cygnus' face, trying to get the magic-user to focus in on her.
The others watched. Wescene called out over her shoulder, "Jack! A hot tea, please- mint?"
The bartender nodded and set to work. Elrohir got up, went over to the wall, and grabbed his brand-new elven traveling cloak off its wall peg. The ranger brought it back to the table and set it over the shoulders of his still-shivering friend. It was several minutes before Cygnus could speak again.
"The Emerald Serpent," he whispered.
Caroline nodded sadly. "Nodyath," she said in an equally soft voice.
"Both, most likely," Argo added, eyeing his wife soberly. "I think Nodyath has corrected his earlier mistake."
"Kingus didn't have someone looking out for him like Tad did," Cygnus said, sorrow shutting his eyes against his will. "He's dead. Somehow, I know he's dead."
When he opened his eyes, it was to see his party leader staring directly into them.
They connected. Elrohir only had to nod. He understood.
Cygnus' tea arrived. The magic-user took the mug in his hands, slurped greedily, and then cursed as he burnt his tongue. Blowing on the liquid, he resumed sipping, more cautiously now.
"There's more," Sitdale added, his voice grim. The others looked at him.
Talass sighed. "Let's hear it."
"They weren't acting right," Wescene said. "Saxmund and the others. They just weren't acting- right."
Argo frowned. "What do you mean?"
His wife, rejoining the conversation, answered for him.
"They just seemed- oh, I don't know- nervous, subdued, anxious."
Elrohir couldn't quite see where this was leading. "They'd just lost their party leader and probably a good friend to boot, Caroline," he interjected, frowning. "How would you expect them to act?"
Caroline shook her head. "No. It's not that. They wanted to know where you and the others had gone, and when we told them, they just looked at each other. Monsrek was here at the time, and he offered to contact Sir Dorbin, who was in Willip at the time, via sending, but they shied away like he'd thrown a scorpion at them."
Talass was still having a hard time with this. "Even Aelfbi? A priest of Hanali Celani?"
Wescene and Sitdale looked at each other, and then Sitdale folded his hands in front of him on the table and leaned forward, as if speaking confidentially. "I spoke with Aelfbi privately, but only for a moment. It looked to me as if he wanted to say something, but just didn't dare."
Argo glanced back over to his wife again. "You said they asked where we had gone. Did they ask a lot of questions about us? Did it seem like they were fishing for information?"
She shook her head. "Not in the least. They hardly spoke at all."
Cygnus was just starting to feel the warmth flow back into his body. Now he looked over again at Flond. "Did you detect for any kind of enchantment?"
"That wasn't foremost on my mind, no," the other wizard responded coldly. "I found them no more worthy of notice than the last time I'd seen them."
Cygnus gritted his teeth, but he just didn't feel up to an argument right now, so he returned his attention to his tea.
Elrohir shrugged helplessly. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to sound obstinate, but there's nothing really solid you've given us as far as-"
"There was someone else with them, Elrohir."
He blinked at Caroline. "What?"
"There was a fourth person, but she didn't come in. She stayed in the stables the whole time they were here."
Argo looked thoughtful. "A woman?"
His wife nodded. "Yes. We didn't know of course, until later. The stable boy told me because he thought it was kind of unusual for someone to just hand their horse over and just stand there, not going inside or anything. He said she wore a large cloak wrapped around her and a deep hood. When the others came out, they gave some of their food and a wineskin to her, and they all rode off together, to the northwest."
Argo was silent a moment. It had to have been someone we'd recognize, the ranger pondered. But who?
The others all looked at each other, and then at their resident mage. "Are you going to be all right, Cygnus?" Talass asked quietly.
Cygnus nodded slowly but said nothing. He wanted to give her a reassuring smile, but just couldn't.
He just wasn't feeling very reassured anymore.
Cygnus came back to the present and looked around. Most of the others were starting to tense up in anticipation of Aslan and Tojo's descent from the upstairs floor. Caroline, however, was chewing her lip, clearly thinking about something else. She caught the tall wizard's eye.
"Cygnus?" Lady Bigfellow asked.
He gave her a look that indicated permission to proceed, but quickly.
"Aslan told me that he spied on Markessa and Blackthorn in fly-form," she said, looking troubled. "Since the whole point of going down there was to get rid of Markessa, why didn't Aslan just land on her shoulder and, " Caroline snapped her fingers, "you know?"
"He said he tried, Caroline, but Markessa had some kind of an invisible magical barrier up," Cygnus explained. "He couldn't get closer than ten feet or so, and when he first hit the barrier, he saw Markessa's eyes flicker over to him. He said it was sheer luck that she didn't realize what was going on."
"Oh," said Caroline, and dropped the subject. She glanced up at her husband, only to see him smiling down at her. She wondered why for a moment, before she remembered how loose her yukata robe was on her. It was hunched up over her shoulders, and her feet were lost in its folds, but she kept having to adjust the belt, as the robe tended to billow out in the front. She realized that Argo probably had a pretty nice view.
"You look like a hobbit in that thing," her husband whispered with a mischievous smile.
"Don't get all sly on me now," she replied, waving a finger at him while simultaneously readjusting the robe. "I've heard stories about you grabbing everything in sight down there," she smirked, the gravity of the moment temporarily lost.
"Oh, I've heard a few stories, too!" Argo replied with a mock haughtiness.
Caroline raised a questioning eyebrow.
"Tell me about Baron Chauv. I always knew you were a sucker for a handsome noble, but..."
Argo was of course, completely distorting the matter, but he knew he was and more importantly, Caroline knew it as well.
It had been the evening following the quake when the first peasants started to arrive from the north. Most passed by the Brass Dragon, turning onto the road and headed off southeast, towards Willip. Those few who could afford it stopped by, and shared information over drinks.
Apparently, the earthquake had been much stronger further north. The castle of Baron Chauv, located about sixty miles due north of the Brass Dragon, had sustained such severe damage that it was considered unsafe to remain in until repairs could be affected. Most of the surrounding village, consisting mainly of thatch huts, had not unexpectedly been flattened. Chauv, a member of the Knightly Conclave, had been sending people on ahead to Willip for needed supplies. Others, unwilling to remain in the area, were fleeing until they considered the situation safe to return.
It was on the evening of the 7th day of Flocktime when they had arrived themselves. The Baron and Lady Chauv, retainers in tow.
Perhaps it was due to the fact that Caroline, along with her husband, had more of a general disdain for nobility than most. Also, the baron had been on the road for several days, traveling in much less comfort than he was used to. And certainly Lord Chauv, suddenly homeless and facing massive rebuilding debts, could not be faulted for not showing his best side.
That being said, the man was a jerk.
He had waltzed into the inn, snapping out orders left and right. Since the Brass Dragon was not located within the boundaries of the Barony of Chauv, he was obligated to pay for services rendered, but when this was delicately brought to his attention, he had merely made several haughty remarks about the word of a noble being more than any freeman would need. Under further pressing, he had literally thrown an (insufficient) number of coins onto the bar. His mood did not lighten when told that the Brass Dragon no longer sported private rooms for rent.
"Then it's not really an inn now, is it?" he had seethed at Sir Dorbin, who had merely smiled at the noble.
Lady Chauv, a short, slender woman of perhaps thirty-five, ten years or so her husband's junior, stood silently and subserviently behind her lord at all times, her hands clasped behind her back. Her curious face took in every detail around her. Caroline had hardly taken notice of her, staring with clenched fists instead at her ranting husband, when the noblewoman suddenly caught her eye, rolled her own eyes at her husband's back and winked at her.
It had probably been that gesture which prompted Caroline to offer her cabin to the Chauvs for the night. That hadn't lowered the temperature on the baron's constant simmer all that much (Oddly, he showed more affection to Grock than to any human Caroline saw him interact with, his wife included). Still, everyone eventually got settled in for the night, Caroline once again enjoying the cramped environs of a shelterdome.
The following day, Sir Dorbin and Fee Hal had accompanied the baron to Willip, offering their services for reasons Caroline hadn't heard and couldn't fathom. Sir Menn and Monsrek were already in the city, looking after the still-feebleminded Unru until the needed funds could be raised to heal him.
And that had been about it for the handsome and dashing Baron Chauv.
"That's right, my love," Caroline purred, sliding her fingers inside the hem of her husband's robe. "Stupid and pompous- a combination that wins my heart every time."
Argo looked thoughtfully down at his wife. Although he was still smiling, she thought his expression looked a little sad.
"That explains so much," he whispered.
The scrape of an armored foot on the staircase above snapped Caroline Bigfellow back to what was going on.
And the terror returned to her heart.
Fully armored up in his suit of gleaming plate mail and carrying his sword at his side, Aslan slowly descended the stairs. The paladin stared straight ahead; his expression as solemn as his friends had ever seen it.
I hope he doesn't know anything we don't, thought Caroline.
Right behind him was Tojo. The samurai was also clad in a gray yukata, and he carried his two swords with him. Tojo's face was the usual blank mask that they had once all thought so foolishly meant the young man had no feelings at all.
The two reached the bottom and stopped at the left end of the circle of blankets. They faced the others and silently bowed.
As one, their six friends returned the bow.
Tojo moved to the center of the circle and sat down in lotus fashion upon the blanket. Aslan stood about eight feet off, facing the samurai. Elrohir, Talass, Cygnus, Zantac and Argo Bigfellow sat down on the blankets arranged in the semicircle, the latter after giving one last squeeze of the hand and an encouraging look to his wife.
Her heart thumping wildly in her chest, Caroline Bigfellow began to slowly walk towards the table with the teapot and mugs.
Why me? She thought. I barely know the language. He could have taught anyone what they needed to say in the time we had! I'm going to mess it up, and I can't- there's no room for any mistakes!
Shaking despite her best efforts, Caroline poured the eight mugs of tea and began to hand them out one at a time.
Despite everything, she had to repress a chuckle when she got to Zantac. The Willip wizard, not quite as flexible as his companions, was having great difficulty in trying to fold his legs under him in the proper fashion. Eventually, when it seemed he was either about to start cursing or start casting, Elrohir leaned over, tapped him on the shoulder and indicated with a gesture that he needn't keep trying. Looking frustrated with himself, Zantac sat down on his knees.
I don't even want to know what spell he might have been thinking of, Cygnus thought, watching this scene and shaking his head.
Caroline was trembling so bad she thought Tojo's tea was going to slosh right over the edge of his mug, but he took it without comment or expression. He did not look at her.
Caroline stood about eight feet from Tojo as well, facing Tojo so that she, him and Aslan formed a roughly equal triangle.
Tojo slowly began to drink from his cup. The others, taking their cue, did likewise.
Yanigasawa Tojo, Caroline repeated endlessly to herself as she drank. Please tell us your story, please tell us your story, please tell us…
Tojo finished his tea and placed the mug down on the floor beside him. The others did likewise, whether they had finished or not.
Caroline again bowed low to the seated samurai.
Please tell us your story.
She straightened up again.
Tojo was now staring directly at her. He seemed to be having no problem making eye contact at all now.
Caroline took a mighty breath.
"Yanigasawa Tojo-san, hashi o onegai dozo shimasu."
Both of Tojo's eyebrows shot skywards.
Caroline's hands flew to her mouth as her eyes went wide. Oh my god! I said it wrong! He's going to kill himself right here and now and it's going to be all my-
But now Tojo had inclined his head at her. His face seemed puzzled.
Caroline managed to lower her hands, but she couldn't have been more frightened.
"Carrorine-san," Tojo said, slowly and carefully. "You just ask me… for pair of chopsticks."
Bigfellow squeezed her eyes closed in frustration. "Hanushi! Hanushi! That's it! I'm sorry, Tojo, I'm so sorry-"
But the samurai had now held up a hand. "Do not worry, Carrorine-san. You have very thick accent. It hard to understand you."
Now just one eyebrow arced up.
"It very annoying."
All intelligent thought sucked out of her, Caroline gaped dumbly at the samurai for a moment. Then she turned at looked at the others. Likewise unsure of what was going on, they looked back at her for answers.
She looked back again at Tojo. She could see no sign of anger whatsoever on his face, but was that- just a hint of a smile?
Is he making a joke? Caroline thought. NOW?
But Tojo was now speaking again, as if none of this meant anything. If he had been smiling, it was gone.
"Proceed, prease."
What could she do?
"Yanigasawa Tojo-san, hanushi watakshitachi dozo oshieru."
After a pause entirely too short to keep Caroline from confirming that she was indeed about to have heart failure, Tojo nodded.
It was all Caroline could do not to scuttle as she walked over to her assigned blanket and sat down upon it.
The samurai slowly turned his head, his violet eyes meeting those of his friends one at a time, without hesitation as he spoke.
"I wish to say at beginning, that I am aware of your nober intentions. You are all good tomodachi- good friends. You wish to know source of my dishonor, so that you may herp me creanse stain from my so."
No one said anything. They knew the time for their talking was over. This was Tojo's time.
"I know awe this, and I am indeed greatfur," Tojo continued, "but know that, as you wish to do this for me, it must be done on my terms- on Nipponese terms, as is our way. "This difficurt for you, but you must be prepared to accept whatever may come of it."
Tojo hesitated, trying to translate in his head the concept he was trying to say. His face grew grimmer as he went on.
"As I have said before, if I share my dishonor with you, then I have dishonored you in turn. I know you do not view things this way, but that does not matter now. You must understand, that- this will bring further shame upon me."
They all stared at him. No one dared move their eyes as, like a lighthouse, those violet orbs swept by them again.
"I have decided. I shar terr you my story, and then you, as Asran-san say, wirr try to think of way for me to regain my honor. If you can offer me no sorution-"
And it was very plain to see now on Tojo's face that he did not think this likely.
"Then I shar end my rife, with honor- and dignity." The samurai finished with an upwards glance at Aslan, who still stood nearby. "With seppuku."
The paladin's gauntlet tightened its grip on the handle of his sword.
Small throaty noises drew Caroline's attention. Although she was sure she would be the first one to crack under the pressure and do something disgraceful, she could see both Talass and Cygnus staring at their friend with horror, as if they had thought he would not actually go through with it. Tears glistened in both their eyes as they struggled to maintain their composures, and just barely did so.
Tojo nodded. "You think this harsh," the samurai went on. "And it is so. The way of the warrior- bushido- is not an easy path, but I have trained in its ways my ho rife. It terrs me how I shood riv- and how I shood die."
He looked at his companions with, if possible, an even greater intensity. "The most honoraber death a samurai can achieve is to die in the service of his rord."
"Even if he's been dead for six hundred years, back on a world you'll never see again?"
Seven heads shot around to stare.
"I'm sorry," Caroline said.
And she was. She hadn't intended to speak. She didn't know she was going to say that- it had just come rumbling out of her. She tried to understand, she really did, but she could feel the tears threatening at the thought of Tojo...
Tojo nodded slowly. Some of the grimness left his face, but not all.
"Yes, Carrorine-san," he said, not unkindly. "Even so. My homerand one of tradition. My duty go beyond time, beyond distance." He hesitated a moment, and then the full measure of sternness came back to his face as he held up an admonishing finger.
"I am no ronin! Despite my dishonor, I am royar servant of my daimyo. He know this, even as he punish me for my fayure. I accept what happen to me for my sin."
Tojo paused, locked eyes with Aslan for a moment, and then resumed.
"I will now terr you my story. You must not speak untirr I am done. Then, I wirr answer any questions you have as best I can. I hope that you may see further than I can and discover sorution which erudes me. But if you cannot-"
The samurai's gaze slowly wandered up to the ceiling, but it was plain to all present that he was looking past it, to the outside- to the sky.
"Then as sun dies today, so must I."
Caroline Bigfellow stared at the roof, blinking back tears. Without looking, she knew the others were doing the same. She could almost see their prayers as they soared effortlessly through the stone, up into the sky, to Olympus and to Asgard.
It suddenly occurred to Caroline that she had no idea whether Tojo worshipped any gods or not, or even if there were Nipponese gods.
She had a feeling there were. And she hoped they were listening.
Yanigasawa Tojo took one more deep breath and began to talk about the one subject he had never spoken of before.
Himself.