The image of the serpent strained. The tip of its nose broke through the surface of the disk, and Toshi stifled a yell.
Not here, he thought. Not now.
release me
“I will,” he said, though he had no idea how. Whatever the Taken One had been in the spirit world, whatever it had become in this world, it was alive. And making demands.
The strain of breaking free from the disk proved too much for the etched serpent, and it settled back into two dimensions. It remained focused on Toshi, however, fixing him with its baleful eyes.
“I can’t do it alone,” Toshi said quickly. “And I need to rest and heal before I can even try. But I promise I will do whatever I can, as soon as I can.” He swallowed nervously. “Trust me.”
The serpent slowly settled back into its original pose, showing Toshi its profile.
waiting
Toshi nodded, awash with relief. “Thank you,” he said. “You won’t have to wait much longer.”
He watched the motionless image for many long minutes before turning his back on it once more. There was nothing for it but to press on. Night’s Reach wanted this thing kept from Konda and O-Kagachi, and Toshi meant to honor her wishes for the time being. His promise to the Taken One would have to wait. After all, he couldn’t help it if they were both captured or killed, so his first priority was to avoid that.
As the great moth carried him east toward the Jukai Forest, Toshi lowered his head and tried to think who in the world would be ready, willing, and able to help him. He was still thinking hours later when the first rays of sunlight speared over the horizon.
PART TWO
CHAPTER 12
The great Jukai Forest was almost as large as all the surrounding territories combined. A vast tangle of massive cedars and tall, grassy hills, Jukai was so large it could experience five different types of weather at once. The eastern edge of the woods had never been mapped, as no survey team had ever found it and returned.
This remote corner of Konda’s domain was some of the wildest and most dangerous country in all Kamigawa. There were very few human tribes, and those that did dwell in the east were extremely religious and intensely private. The orochi-bito snakefolk held sway in these deepest recesses of the forest, and while over thirty tribes had been identified, no one was truly sure how many snakes there were.
It was upon this remote wooded expanse and against these fabled creatures that the soratami descended. Their warriors came down from the sky in huge cloud chariots, raining ice-blue magic and silver arrows upon any orochi they saw. As the crescent moon smiled sharply on the horizon, wave after wave of silver-white war machines stooped down to the treetops, unleashing a grim tide of armored soratami clad in shimmering mail armor.
To any observer it would have seemed as if the pale, slender warriors were lashing out at the forest itself, blasting thick stands of trees with their crystalline magic and piercing great hedgerows with volleys of spears and arrows. The moonfolk left little more than shattered trunks and broken boughs as the lifeless bodies of camouflaged orochi fell from their hiding spots.
Mochi, the Smiling Kami of the Crescent Moon grinned, and the actual moon turned so that its points were facing up. As was his custom when manifesting in the utsushiyo, he now took the unthreatening form of a small, chubby, blue-skinned cherub with bright eyes and a dazzling smile. As Mochi became solid, the moon overhead returned to its normal position.
So far, the campaign was going splendidly. There were hundreds of soratami warriors already in the forest, with thousands more arriving or on the way. Almost the entire Oboro garrison had been mustered and sent into the woods. They had not found the homes of the largest orochi tribes yet, but he was certain they would. When they did, the dominant snakes would fall as easily as the small pocket of resistance his army was devastating right now.
The soratami were spectacular in all-out warfare, a study in grace blended with power wrapped in a shroud of stealth. It was something everyone should be able to see and appreciate, even if it meant they had to be on the wrong end of the moonfolk’s swords.
First came the shinobi, scouts and spies who could walk through walls and dance on dust motes without drawing attention. The orochi had to breed for generations before they could blend into the deep woods as effectively as Mochi’s agents did with just a few weeks’ preparation, and the soratami were not limited to the forest. They could disappear just as easily on the plains of Towabara or the marshes of Takenuma.
This invisible advance team had located all of the orochi dens and gathering places, even mapping the most likely shelters they would be driven to when attacked. When the fighting started, the soratami warriors knew exactly where to look for their prey.
The warriors themselves were a special point of pride for Mochi, as they wore his crescent moon standard, and their enchanted mail perfectly mimicked the shine of moonlight on pure silver. They were armed with traditional katana and they floated like ethereal dancers through the moss and cedar, blades flashing and spinning through the trees. Mochi could easily imagine there were no orochi at all and that his army was simply performing an intricate military exercise … if not for the vile hissing of the snakes and the stench of their watery green blood.
Overhead, scores of cloud chariots waited for the chance to deposit more warriors on the field. Mochi folded his chubby fingers over his bulging belly and sighed happily. Things were working out so well.
His agents in Eiganjo had told him of Konda’s plan to raid the spirit world as soon as the daimyo consulted them about it. Instead of seeing this as an outrageous blasphemy like any decent kami, Mochi saw only opportunity. Like many spirits who have frequent interaction with the physical world, Mochi had been exposed to his worshippers’ way of thinking. He had experienced enough of their worldview to understand and even share it.
Konda was intending to disrupt the natural order of things, the balance between physical and spiritual. Such an act would have dangerous, unpredictable repercussions, and so Mochi decided that he would not only allow it, but also facilitate it.
In the twenty years of strife since Konda made his raid, Mochi had time to reflect on the wisdom of his actions and their true motivations. His introspection revealed three important things: One, he did not know what to expect as a result of Konda’s crime, but he was sure he could capitalize on it for his own benefit; two, if Konda succeeded it meant the oldest and most sacred laws could be broken by someone with enough will and power, which he could capitalize on for his own benefit in the long term; and three, it was a waste of time second-guessing his own genius because he made good decisions even when he didn’t have all the facts.
A trio of orochi turned on a pursuing soratami and enveloped him in their strong, flexible bodies. Too late to save the warrior, Mochi directed a nearby squad of soratami to avenge their fallen comrade. It pained him to lose his noble followers, but this war was for a great cause, and sacrifices had to be made.
When the kami attacks started, Mochi knew that Konda’s reign would not survive. The daimyo had done a remarkable job uniting the different peoples behind him, but once he was gone they would undoubtedly fall back into petty skirmishing and tribal warfare. Mochi knew the soratami would be largely unaffected, safe in their cloud cities, but he also thought the soratami destiny was to be more than elite survivors. They were exalted beings who worshiped him, after all. If anyone was fit to rule Kamigawa, it was the moonfolk.