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400 Years Apart	By : Cynthermes Category: +M to R > Mirage of Blaze Views: 4238 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Mirage of Blaze and its characters solely belong to Kuwabara Mizuna. I’m just going to creep into a corner of her sand box and play the part of a wannabe historical writer. No profit has been made in the construction of this story.

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Chapter Eighteen:

War of the Usurpers: Part 6

A/N: The Hojo are caught in a confusing pincer tactic deployed by two unusually cooperating (or are they?) rival/ enemy clans.

This is mostly a Kotarou-centric fic. Kotarou’s point-of-view at the end of Chapter 7 and his activities during his absence from Chapters 8-14 are written here in detail.

Warning: Wordy/ Chunk-o-texts that might bore you to sleep.

More.

He wanted to do so much more and that horrifies him the most.

Kotarou wipes the blood smeared off his lips with the back of his hand. The dull incomplete moon on the night sky makes the crimson streaks appear black. Black, like his heart; dark as his desires… he licks the stain of almost betrayal on his skin. Appeasing his discontent in that violent way was probably a killer’s instinct. That was why many daimyo avoid the employ of a shinobi if they could. As the saying goes, a competent shinobi is despised by his master because one extremely skilled could also be quite dangerous…

That was why he wanted to die honorably before he lost it. The boy could not understand; Saburo never truly realized the weight of his protector’s folly that day, until… he himself was assaulted.

And who knows what could have happened if he had not the wit to leave hastily? His mouth and tongue would have lapped up the blood on the rich spot on young Saburo’s throat while lethal hands would have disrobed his ceremonial blue suo⁶⁹. Then Kotarou would proceed in the most deliberate and thorough manner to mark and possess, carve unspeakable pleasures on the youth’s body unlike any other— he slammed the heel of his palm against his forehead. At most, he was not thinking clearly.

His tolerance was low earlier that morning. How Tono-sama had accurately guessed upon his mood was no longer a surprise. The enforced shudo was only another means to test him. Little did he know that it was nothing compared to what was in store for much later.

Upon being declined to escort Ujiteru-sama, Kotarou was instructed to remain outside the leisure room of the palace, overlooking the rain-battered gardens. Certainly, aside from Ujimasa-kou’s shadow⁷⁰, he could hear every word spoken between the two brothers. He even suspected that Tono-sama intentionally aimed some of their dialogue directly at him.

That didn’t prepare him however for Saburo’s stuttered actual cries for help. The sight of his young master thrust up in midair clutching at the mercy of his aniue just robbed Kotarou of reason. His protective instinct had overlapped his ability to grasp the scenario in a logical perspective. In the end he played right into Ujimasa-kou’s hands like a fool.

That doesn’t mean Tono-sama didn’t have to bear the consequences for his shinobi’s fallibility. Ujimasa-kou in the meantime would not be able to grasp a katana’s hilt for extended periods and young Saburo… would be better off without his company for as long as possible.

In his mental— he was unsure himself of the state, he didn’t know what more he could do to his naïve young master. One thing about being both shinobi and hitokiri is that things aren’t done half-heartedly. If even a little blood were spilled, regardless of the source… it wouldn’t be enough. To sate the lust, many had to fall by his blade.

This wasn’t the first time it happened. He suffered from ‘fits’ before especially if he stayed on guard duty for too long. Born shinobi were taught at a tender age to relieve tension through rigorous training and meditation but when one has reached a certain caliber where training becomes routine activity than necessity…

The absolute discipline prized in a shinobi falters and the master obtains the right to dispose of his shadow. Should the master relinquish that right, a shinobi’s honor is further shamed and must do anything to preserve his worth. Kotarou chuckled softly, a sound so foreign and more chilling than the night air.

To preserve his honor? That didn’t even occur to him when he pinned the slender body beneath his own. All he wanted to do was to be rid of an emotion— no, an indefinable ache eating away at the perfect control he had honed for years. But downright assaulting the source of his confusion had gotten him nowhere. Worse it had stirred something quietly slumbering inside him: A part of his psyche he didn’t know that existed until now…

It shocked him to realize he was also capable of this weakness before his young master. Was this what the others blatantly speak of in the absence of the youth? Young Saburo was said to have this ‘effect’ upon anyone who gazed upon him or even interacted with him for such a time. And wasn’t he the one who had spent the longest in the lordling’s company? At first he had denied it, too proud, too hell-bent on his duty and position as Head of the Fuma Clan.

He was erringly unaware that each moment spent as the protector of Hojo Saburo was eroding the walls of stone he had built to distance himself thus being fully capable of functioning as a tool, a deadly weapon and a sturdy shield to the one he had sworn to serve with his very life. To a certain extent, Saburo was also to blame for his naiveté, his unwavering trust on the good will of men who only wanted to do one thing or another to him… or so he keep telling himself.

So by being harmed by the one closest to him, would Saburo start taking more caution towards the people around him? Would he stop being the sheltered brat his eldest brothers had unintentionally molded him to become?

Perhaps not…

And that makes his reasoning with his past actions a baseless, redundant, nonsensical folderol⁷¹.

A mute set of footsteps behind him and his long blade was out swiping just a finger-full of hair.

“Aniue,” Akito’s good-natured smile didn’t waver one bit… even if the tip of a very sharp weapon was almost touching his temple. “Ujimasa-sama has called for you.”

Kotarou briskly turned his back and eased the tsuba inside its sheath with a ghostly finesse that not a scrape was heard. “He has to send you above all.” The elder of the Fuma muttered under his breath.

“It would be a pity for the others to find you in this… mood.” Akito looked unflinchingly at the point of a kunai aiming straight for his forehead.

Kotarou stops midway, withdrawing the short blade and lets it fly against one of the gingko trees where it stabbed a falling leaf in fatal accuracy.

“I suppose his shadow won’t go away unless I do his bidding.”

“I suppose it won’t, aniue.” Akito agreed in a tired indulgent tone making his jaw clench.

XxXMOBXxX

“Do you know perchance why that brat didn’t have the respect to join his elders for supper?” Ujimasa-kou asked casually as he slid the shoji with his uninjured hand.

Kotarou stood with his back to him facing the finely manicured lawn… leaves and white stone gleamed silver in the moonlight. He didn’t answer. That was rhetorical after all.

“Are you going to keep me out of the secrecy between yourself and my otouto?” Ujimasa crossed his arms, assuming the posture of one offended lord.

Kotarou wasn’t fooled however. Tono-sama was simply amused of his predicament and he was aware… all too aware of everything happening in his household to be asking him questions. “Tono-sama, you summoned this tool of war for what purpose?”

Ujimasa’s lip curled. Normally a daimyo would be throwing a murderous tantrum at being spoken to in such a manner. The Fuma Clan Head stood proud, back straight, eyes not humbly lowered like they should.

He wasn’t one of those masters whose heads got bitten off by their own guard dogs. Unlike them who didn’t even know how to hold a leash, Hojo Ujimasa perfectly knew how to rein control over the most dangerous warriors with the power of mere words. “What think you of Saburo?"

“Does a mere tool of war have the right to opinions about one’s master?”

The Fuma Clan Head’s response was typical of shinobi with rank but it wasn’t what Ujimasa was looking for. “Let me rephrase my question, do you find my otouto desirable?”

Kotarou stiffened, just a slight drawing of limbs upon itself but was otherwise noticeable to nigh omniscient eyes.

“I believe even the strongest of men become weak in his presence. Do you not think so?”

“Tono-sama,” This time Kotarou did sink to his knees bowing low enough that his face touched the floor. “This shinobi has been shamed; he believes he isn’t worthy enough to protect the most precious one.”

“So you do admit it, most strange. He would be very surprised.” Ujimasa-kou throws nonchalantly. If it was mercy one expects, none could be found in this man.

Kotarou kept his eyes to the floor. “He has also dared harm you with his blade.”

“Ah, I can see what happened there. Has Saburo refused you the honor of death?” The Hojo overlord’s gaze narrowed.

The shinobi felt pinned in place like a butterfly fluttering madly to escape. How much does this man know? How much does this man intend to let one know of what he knows? It was utterly vexing but nonetheless a response was appropriate. “Yes, Tono-sama.”

Kotarou caught a glimpse but it was enough. It was just a small quirk of lips but it was a smile. A smile not meant for anyone to see even in a moonless night.

“Are you trying to provoke me into granting you that same honor? Let me ask you another question: How did you provoke Saburo?” Ujimasa unsheathes his katana with his left hand. The sound the metal made as it slides free was like the hissing of an angry snake.

To be struck by it was worse. It was worse than being whipped in the back and leaving bloody welts.

“I had him, Tono-sama. I forced myself into his body.” He felt the pain before the hiss of a sweeping blade. A bead of ruby red and then two dripped down the tatami. The cut was very close to his right eye but it managed to miss by the length of an eyelash. It was probably because Ujimasa-kou used his unpracticed hand.

“Is what you intended to do, liar.” Two can certainly play this game: rubbing mud on each other’s face; revealing one’s deepest deprivations through the other. “Tell me what made you hesitate.”

“I told myself I am not like the others who secretly covet him in that manner. I want to prove to him I can do so differently. I want to teach him not to trust one too closely.” Kotarou rudely then looks him in the eye.

“Prove to him differently? How so?” Ujimasa practically sneered at his challenge. The wolf rose, unafraid though the katana remained unsheathed, ready to slash and decapitate if necessary.

“I proved to him that desire can be channeled out into hate and into doing harm. Tono-sama should know this like the back of his hand.”

Ujimasa laughed. “Such insolence should not be let off easy. What fool would kill his most skilled warrior? Now that I have both in one man I have something to do for him.”

“How may I gain your favor, Tono-sama?” The shinobi asked just as one would expect of his station and upbringing.

“Disturb the anthill on Hakone and when they are panicked enough to send in reinforcements, snatch the highest of rank and bring him to me.” The master of the household ordered with sterling finality, sheathed his sword and turned on his heel.

“A hostage.” Kotarou spoke to dispel a predator’s instinct at the sight of that unguarded back. Was Tono-sama provoking him? This man’s words and actions were full of contradictions.

“Purge Hakone of its invaders so that you can vent some of that rage.” Ujimasa-kou added dismissively.

“Tono-sama, what of the young master?”

The Hojo Clan Head paused, hiding another secret smile. “Aren’t people with siblings fortunate? Especially those who have the same exact copy of themselves are blessed.”

Before those words, the shinobi thought his honor couldn’t take another beating.

XxXMOBXxX

Surrounded by tall trees and thick mists a simple temple at the foot of the mountain could be transformed into a fortress. No wonder the Uesugi would want to camp here. The advantage of an incline ensures enemy advance would be spotted whether they came by sea or by land. Suspicions by the locals were eased when the invaders were no samurai but were monks themselves who could effortlessly pretend they were Hakone Jinja’s former inhabitants.

Kotarou watches, lounging atop a strong bough wiping the bloodstains off his tsuba within the cloak of unnatural smoke. The enemy seemed overly careful, not merely relying on the temple’s geographical defenses but enshrouded it in the ancient art based on the scriptures of the Sonshi⁷². Roughly, the texts state the legendary breath of Kohryu: An ancient dragon that apart from being powerful enough to exhale fire was also capable of releasing poison into the atmosphere. Only full pledged initiates would be allowed to decipher its meaning, taught at an early age of the secrets of different kinds of herbs and natural extracts infused with incense to ‘simulate the dragon’s breath.’

The Sohei, apparently use the verse of Kohryu as a defensive weapon. The torches practically burned night and day consuming elements that tainted the mountain’s natural mist making it a constant sea of white enveloping the fortress. It hid the location of the temple from potential intruders and those unfortunate enough to stumble upon the territory by accident would die of suffocation.

Thus it was next to impossible for just anyone to infiltrate Hakone Jinja. Only a select few of the distinguished shinobi clans had the access to the original text almost identical to the one used by the sohei in this type of esoteric warfare. Even before they served the Hojo, the matrilineal Fuma were one of those entrusted of the Sonshi and its terrifying secrets particularly the ones that brought about the vilest forms of carnage in times of strife. Kotarou’s mother the late Lady Momochi⁷³ was the last direct descendant of the Iga to have invoked such forbidden techniques to save her blood kin from oppression. This resulted in a severe backlash however as threatened powerful daimyo soon plotted the annihilation of all shinobi families and almost succeeded. Lady Momochi and her equals thus vowed to kill all the Sonshi’s keepers as well as those who could interpret its meaning, themselves included. A mass execution was performed in front of witnesses, the witnesses being none other than the keepers’ spouses and children. It was a dark legacy the present could only hope to live without.

How the Sohei dared to disregard those sacrifices by resurrecting Kohryu’s verse, copied or not, stolen or not was still due for investigation. Kotarou was unconcerned. Delving into a past covered by a mountain-pile of corpses would certainly not make him a better protector.

Yet in taking sides, the Sohei had effectively broken their oath of neutrality and thus threatened to destroy the delicate balance of power between the Bakufu and the regional daimyo. If the situation was left by itself would it plunge the nation into anarchy? Ujimasa-kou must have dug the shinobi graves himself if he could put these pieces together. Could the ambitious Sagami no Kami be planning to expand his rule in this manner? Kotarou held himself insignificant there. As a tool of war he was sent to Hakone to act as konran* to lure his master’s true enemies.

*Agitator

He had already caused a stir by taking down scouts. As he spilled blood he felt the untamed viciousness possessing him start to abate. In fact, the more he killed, the clearer his mind became… or so he thought. As he slashed one who foolishly got too close, blood splattered across his cheek and he unwittingly tasted stray drops of it from his victim.

His too high-strung senses went mad.

He was suddenly acutely reminded of the taste of that blood.

Saburo’s blood…

All the relief he felt vanished and he fled, quickly masking his presence from the enemy. It took a while for him to calm down and when he did was at a loss. Why was his control too brittle? Things like this don’t affect him before.

NO.

He could not go on like this. Tono-sama had given him another chance. He had to redeem himself otherwise what purpose would he serve Hojo Saburo?

The Sohei as expected tightened their defenses. They maintained closely-knit groups, avoided venturing the mountain paths, and ultimately invoked Kohryu’s kekkai to entrap their unknown assailant within temple grounds. None of these measures were troublesome for Kotarou however. He just hid his tracks better in the swirling chi, biding his time and was expectant for Tono-sama’s predictions.

It was dusk when he noticed the changes. Kotarou took a deep breath and his suspicions were confirmed. The air was cleaner, the torches were doused, and the mist was dissipating. Were the enemy lowering their guard or were they still aiming to ensnare him? If it was the latter then it doesn’t matter at this point. He was planning to show himself at dawn and cut them up one by one.

XxXMOBXxX

The sky had barely turned a lighter shade of indigo when lanterns lit the stone path of the torii gate. Kotarou stood from his perch to inspect closely. A sohei would not need illumination to travel in the dark so its use quickly caught his interest. The reason for their trouble would be…

Ujimasa-kou’s calculations had been correct. Now would be his chance while they were complacent.

He descends the tree and shoots down the stone steps of the shrine like an arquebus ball. A series of small explosions leave a trail of smoke providing distraction for his rapid and silent approach. Sohei defensively move to intercept him but they barely make their weapons out their scabbards before he sliced their necks open. Another approached him from behind but he flicked blood on the sohei’s eyes and stabbed him deeply on the stomach.

The opaque gas was thinning, he had to locate his target and fast. A silk crest shone in the firelight of the lantern. It bears the image of two birds linked together—Uesugi! Out of place was a pair of samurai— part of the entourage standing in his way before a palanquin. Traveling by foot and not by horse means they were being very cautious.

He had expected to face an entire army joining the sohei to camp. And yet the guard escorts were only a handful of ashigaru. Something doesn’t seem right. He released throwing knives against the katana-wielding men. They drop dead with pierced skulls.

Kotarou runs for the palanquin already unsheathing the tsuba stashed on his back. With a naked blade he lunges for the wooden carriage slashing it in two. He barely manages to step back when a thrusting weapon moved past the splintered panels and suddenly greets him at face level.

A naginata keeps Kotarou in check, “Who do you work for?”

The elite shinobi doesn’t even pay this obstacle any heed. Wolf’s eyes were trained on a man too young to be wearing a warlord’s hitatare⁷⁴. He was only slightly taller and possibly no older than Saburo with a strong jaw and marble-round eyes. And judging by the grip on his sword, the lad had not fought enough to kill.

Kotarou as per usual keeps his silence, feints sideways and then abruptly dashes forward nearly knocking the sohei’s weapon off his hands. But this one was quick to recover. Using the weapon in reverse, he defended himself with the blunt end of the handle when the shinobi closed the gap. To avoid the thrusting pole, Kotarou somersaulted backwards and simultaneously hurled three flat blades, which the sohei failed to, deflect all. One grazed the enemy’s upper arm while another slammed against his side.

Sange grits his teeth, yanking the embedded object out with a grunt. Musa—no, Naoe-sama has entrusted him Hakone as their first stand against the Hojo. He must defend it and Kakizaki-dono’s emissary with his life. He had been reckless, thinking himself capable enough to shoulder this responsibility alone. But their intruder doesn’t seem to be ordinary in the least. If he could breathe, could move unrestricted, and could maintain vitality within Kohryu’s kekkai then he must have Iga blood in his veins.

As a last resort the Sohei Master’s second-in-command burns Amida’s⁷⁵ symbol in the air calling forth his warriors to battle.

A reddish gold thread gleams on the horizon casting shafts of light on mountain slopes, tall grass, tree leaves, and the glass waters of the cold lake. At sunrise Kotarou suddenly finds himself very much outnumbered not by samurai but an army of sohei.

Not losing sight of his prey he turns his attention on hundreds of warrior monks storming down the stone path to attack him.

Though fairly swift and exceptionally skilled, fighting a horde of trained warriors all at once was a risky feat. Even when more than half of his enemies were put down, Kotarou had sustained injuries himself. The sohei may not move as fast and as agile like the shinobi but they make it up for strength and stamina. They neither seem to feel pain or fear as they were stabbed, slashed, or sustained broken bones. Some even had their limbs cut off but they keep going as if their bodies simply refused to die.

‘Persistence’ was their weapon. They never stayed knocked out for long. Midway a grueling round when the blood lust relinquished its hold, Kotarou decided it’s time to stop being soft on the enemy. He flings the long blade sharply; drenching the grass with red dew and in a blur disappears on sight.

“He can’t have escaped!”

“Find him!”

Sange protectively ushers his charge in a safer distance. It was clear the intruder’s target was Kakizaki-dono’s son. How a shinobi of Iga descent got wind of such information is beyond him. Yet fleeing means he would be abandoning his subordinates at the mercy of this elite warrior. “Don’t be fooled! He just masked his scent and muted the sound of his movements! Be alert he could strike anywhere!” He yells in warning though he couldn’t locate the man himself.

A leaf fell from one of the trees and the moment it touched the earth, a harsh wind blew. And then in alarming speed, sohei were dropping dead on their feet with their vital spots struck mercilessly once. Their dangerous assailant didn’t disappoint.

Sange stood paralyzed seeing only a dark shadow dart from one target to the next. ‘He’s too fast—

I can’t even see him.’ Only if he concentrated enough did he see a warped image of the Iga assassin as he drove his blade deep into an unprotected thigh and unblinkingly disemboweled another. Gushes of crimson spray into the air making it the only indication that he precisely aimed for hemorrhage-risk parts of the body. This one knew his way around dispatching foes too much. It was as if the art of killing was ingrained into his very core.

When it appears that the shinobi was going to wipe them out, Sange began thinking of his last options. “Kakizaki-dono, how long will it take for the army to reach us?”

The lad who was obviously in fear but hid it well with a schooled expression replied, “About a few more days if Chichiue is finally cleared of suspicion.”

“What do you mean?”

“The moment you sent for help, the army should have arrived days earlier. Naoe-dono expects for Chichiue but Kagetora-kou has not informed him of the predicament yet.”

Their plan had been foiled from the start. Naoe had expected Hakone to be twice-secured with the Uesugi army led by Kakizaki Kageie to diminish the Hojo’s chances of reclaiming the strategic fortress. To have a shelter that could accommodate large troops would have weakened the impregnability of Odawara-jo. It seems that was not to be.

“By this, you say that there is unrest between Kagetora-dono and the Ten-ou? Heed well,” All his warriors have fallen. Their killer was coming for him, blade streaked with blood walking slowly, deliberately to insult him. Sange knew this stance. The shinobi was telling him he was no threat and could be taken out easily. “When he abducts you,” He gestures at the assailant with an incline of head, “Give them no opening. Act like you have no value.”

Kakizaki Haruhie stares at the looming figure that was apparently inescapable. “I understand.”

After a short exchange of blades, the last sohei slumped to the ground. Wide-eyed, Haruhie beheld the very epitome of death’s approach. For some strange reason he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t even look away as those blood-drenched hands reach for him.

~TBC

69 – A formal set of outfit, which comprises of a kataginu or a sleeveless vest worn over a kimono and a hakama underneath. Unlike the more casual kamishimo, a suo’s huge and free-flowing sleeves are attached to the kataginu. This is often worn of those men with rank.

70 – Ujimasa’s protector. You’ll know soon.

71 – *Self-comment here: Look at him berate himself and blame Saburo in the same breath!

72 – This ‘book’ or collection of esoteric texts was said to be the basis of shinobi skills and knowledge. Some debatable historical texts also state that shinobi or ninjas were originally yamabushi or mountain monks that became tools of war instead of their wandering and religious counterpart. (I’m going with this source. So basically it means that the sohei and the shinobi came from the same class.)

73 – In this fic, Kotarou’s mother is the matriarch of the Momochi clan, one of the three greatest jonin of the Iga Clan. The Iga Clan comprised of the Hattori, Momochi and Fujibayashi is said to be the ancestor of all born shinobi clans. They are unfortunately almost wiped out by Oda Nobunaga while Tokugawa Ieyasu looked kindly upon them and employed them in his service.

74 – A kimono worn beneath or above the armor.

75 – Sohei in Mirage-verse is the equivalent of the Ikko-Ikki sect. Sound familiar? They are followers of Amida Buddha.
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400 Years Apart