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Novelo Rectangle

Sora chortled and kicked as Mitikori and Masamune passed over the small bridge into Hayasegawa. It was an old town. Built on a river’s curve before three large peaks, trade once flowed through the village of lilies. Now, it lay desolate. Market streets were empty, old lanterns hung off their posts. To the east lay Ishinji peak casting a long shadow onto the stone roads below. Masamune dismounted as they passed a well. He took Tsubaki by the lead before hitching her to the wooden fence beside the stone well.&nbsp;	“It’s empty.” He gazed down into the long, dark hole.&nbsp;	“It’s fed from the river. I don’t think that’s–,” Mitikori stopped himself as he also wandered over to the city well. How many days had been spent in the shade of the nearby market. Sipping clear water and waiting for work. The hole was drained. Black, dry rocks stared back at the two men as they looked down. Mitikori sighed. Masamune glanced around the town in confusion.&nbsp;	“After two weeks of riding, I was hoping there would be food,” The young samurai admitted.&nbsp;	“Prepare yourself for a series of disappointments,” Mitikori grumbled. Sora struggled to get free of Mitikori’s lead as the Ronshin dragged her through Hayasegawa. They passed the old theater district, finally reaching the terrace at the back of the town. A small stream-fed garden had overgrown into a jungle of flowers and vines, blocking their path forward. Mitikori yanked Sora towards the natural wall, hoping the horse would flatten the plants. Sora had other plans. The imperial horse stamped and jumped, yanking the Ronshin back towards the city.&nbsp;	“Let me try,” Masamune quickly mounted Tsubaki. He ran her a few times back and forth over the tall weeds until it was flat enough that Sora would try.&nbsp;	Now clear of the city, the duo headed up the stone steps to Okamijō. Mitikori remained silent as they neared the end of his pilgrimage. The green ground began to be cut with blocks and stones jutting out from the stony ground. Old training logs still stood. Mitikori’s keen eyes even detected blade marks on them. Years of rain had softened and smoothed the edges of the rotting wood. They came to the end of the riding path. Mitikori dismounted and led Masamune and the horses into a cave. It was a large space with angled holes in the roof to let sunlight in. The hay was soft and new, and freshly lit torches gave ample lighting.&nbsp;	“Someone lives here?” Masamune mused.&nbsp;	“The caretakers.” Mitikori didn’t say another word, following a small, carved path up to the sanctuary.&nbsp;	Coming out from the gray stone path lay the barracks. It had been remade since Mitikori last saw it. Gone were the old wooden crafting tables for making Ronshin weapons and the forge for crafting new blades. Instead, Yoroi-kake stood about, adorned with the armor of his old friends. White candles melted all around the armor stands, giving a holy light to the once noisy place. Mitikori wandered past into the dojo. The straw mats and swinging courses were in pristine condition. In no small part due to their lack of use. At the end of the dojo, the caretakers waited. Two tall, hooded, and masked figures waited. Their clothes were dark like the mountain stone, and straw hats covered their wrapped faces. They bowed upon seeing Mitikori, and the one on the left held up her hands to receive the Ronshin’s blade. Mitikori hesitated before undoing his obe and passing the wooden katana to the caretaker. She looked over the blade unexpectedly.&nbsp;	“Leave it unadorned.” The caretaker nodded wordlessly, and the pair left into the dark recesses of the cave fortress.	&nbsp;Masamune looked behind them. This was the grand hall of the Ronshin. An open space with lots of sunshine from a wide entrance on the far side. Two shinto-style pillars held up the stone roof at the far edge of the cave. As Masamune wandered closer, he could see Hayasegawa far below. The pillars at the entrance did little to stop the gusting wind. Gusts blew through the samurai’s iron-cast armor. He scanned the white clouds for any rain. It was clear, Sora would hopefully not bolt.&nbsp;	“What was this place for?” Masamune turned back to his guide. Mitikori looked around the open hall. Pillows still sat on the smoothed stone floor, and in the center was a narrow table.&nbsp;	“Meditations, breakfast, lectures,” Mitikori mused. “Jumping if you really felt like it.”&nbsp;	“Ronshin can survive a fall like that?” Masamune turned to double check the distance.&nbsp;	“None yet, but occasionally they try.” Mitikori led the samurai past the grand hall into the quiet of a mountain peak. In the center was a small pond with wooden corridors leading to dormitories and pagodas. At the center of the granite pond was a dog statue with its paw on top of a kappa’s head. Mitikori chuckled, “Pico, slayer of yokai. The first Ronshin.”&nbsp;	“The dog?” Masamune looked at the strangely carved statue.&nbsp;	“It’s a wolf.” Masamune checked again. It certainly looked like a dog. Maybe one of the royal brushwood dogs– Mitikori was moving again. Masamune left the dog statue and quickly followed the Ronshin up to the dormitories.&nbsp;	When they arrived in the narrow hallways, two more caretakers were waiting. This time they held two gray colored yukata. Masamune took one and Mitikori took the other. The caretakers opened rooms for them to change in. Masamune was led inside to a traditional dorm. There was a straw bed and shelves for placing weapons or Ronshin tools. He noted some specialized hooks for holding… something. He set his taito down on the shelf, and there was a knock at the door. Masamune turned to see a caretaker’s silhouette in the Fusuma.&nbsp;	“Yes, sir?” Masamune tried to sound respectful. A short caretaker entered. It gently removed its hat, placing the round straw head-piece on the door. The caretaker’s face was heavily wrapped in gauze, with a gray cloth covering it. Without a word, the caretaker began to remove Masamune’s armor. Some of the caretakers had distinct human shapes on their bodies; others, like this one, were almost completely androgonous. It worked carefully with six fingers to undo the iron armor. As the caretaker worked, a third and fourth arm came from under its robes to place the armor pieces gently on a stand. It took only a few minutes, and Masamune was free of his armor. With a bow, the caretaker rose to its feet. Masamune stood up quickly with it. He bowed low, trying to convey his respect. One of the caretaker’s many arms appeared from under its robe to cover its mouth. Then the caretaker left.&nbsp;	“What’s the story of the caretakers?” Masamune rejoined Mitikori in Pico’s garden.&nbsp;	“They watch over the Ronshin as we watched over Hayasegawa.”&nbsp;	“What are they?” Masamune corrected his question. Mitikori laughed.&nbsp;	“Yokai. Ancient and mysterious. So far, we’ve found them mostly friendly and helpful. Once, a Ronshin tried to make his advances on one. We found him chopped into pieces in the morning stew.”&nbsp;	“I… see…” Masamune muttered. “They look similar to the Tenshi’s vessels.”&nbsp;	“Where do you think Amagawa got the idea from?” Mitikori chuckled.&nbsp;	“The Tenshi stayed here?” Masamune was surprised. Most Tenshi never left the sacred refuge of Tokiwa Palace until they were kings.&nbsp;	“Amagawa’s father wanted him to be a warrior, not just a scholar. Though it seems his ideas created the opposite effect.” Mitikori’s face soured. He looked at the clear water in the small pond. Wind came down from the mountain, blowing in a small vortex in the pond. Autumn leaves spun and whirled. Masamune noted Mitikori’s eyes watching the leaves with a fixation he had not seen before. The older man stared into the leaves as if they were the only color in the world.&nbsp;	“The Tenshi won’t fight this Yokai. And the Ronshin can’t stop it either. We swore a sacred oath to the people and the foundation of Tokiwa.” Masamune had feared those words. He tried to compose himself,&nbsp;	“Then the common folk will suffer the most! We can hide here, and the Tenshi can run to his holy sanctuaries, but what of the merchants? What of the farmers?”&nbsp;	“The Ronshin can’t do it. To kill this beast, we would need to spite the Kami. As a Ronshin it’s not possible.” Masamune sighed. How well he knew the codes of honor. How binding they could be. He shook his head.&nbsp;	“I understand.”&nbsp;	“You cannot leave the order; not even in death were we considered freemen. However, as the last Ronshin, if there is no order, there is no code.”&nbsp;	“What?” Masamune felt his neck hair stand. Mitikori’s hazy green eyes stared at him. The horn began to rise from his skull.&nbsp;	“I will end the Ronshin. Then we will kill this yokai.”

Yokai

TeamPanic

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Juneau Thorne

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