Scott McGough: Guardian, Saviors of Kamigawa

Toshi was resting on the rail at the edge of a city-sized platform that served as the foundation for Minamo Academy’s main building. The massive hall was a grand and opulent structure of blue steel and glass spires that rested on a magical column of water hundreds of feet above the surface of the lake.

Overhead, the soratami capital Oboro peeked through the clouds. The city was not clearly visible from where Toshi stood, but he had been there once before so he knew that it was even more lavish and visually stunning than the academy grounds. Where Minamo was designed to mimic natural forms found in the rocks and water, Oboro was all sharp, clean edges and proud, almost arrogant towers that stood draped with gleaming, crystalline wire that glistened in the moonlight.

Toshi glanced up at Oboro one last time and then spit on the ground. He hated this place. Despite all the natural beauty and architectural splendor (and in some ways, because of it), Toshi resented the snobbery and elitism that dripped from both Oboro and Minamo like spray from the river.

Toshi’s vivid green eyes darted across the entrance to the academy, and he shook his long black hair from his face. When he left the academy, it had been under an all-out attack, but now it was as still and as quiet as a tomb. The somber mood around the academy clung to the place like thick fog. The school was supposed to be a place of learning and enlightenment, but it felt like one of the daimyo’s prisons after a plague wiped out all the inmates: empty, foreboding, and dead. There was bad magic here-raw emotions and violent death permeated the air like incense.

Still, if there were no one left alive inside the school, his job would be significantly easier. Toshi didn’t let his hopes rise too high; nothing he had done lately had been easy or gone according to plan. He placed one foot on the bottom step of the Minamo entrance and waited. When nothing happened, he climbed another step. Nothing.

On the fifth step, two lean, muscular people sprang from inside the open doors, tumbling and spinning as they came. The male was bald and dressed in bleached skins, the female in tight braids and a red wool wrap that covered her from breastbone to mid-thigh. Both were armed with swords and the man carried a staff. Each warrior wore a black phylactery strapped to their head and bore a circular symbol with a jagged line through it-the man carried the standard on the end of his staff with a series of metal rings looped through it and the woman wore the symbol as a necklace.

Though their leaps carried them twenty feet into the air, they both landed soundlessly a few paces from Toshi. He glanced at one, then the other, and shrugged.

“Well?” he said. “You either recognize me or you don’t. If you do, take me to see the ogre now. If not, draw your swords.”

Toshi smiled. The two warriors did not. They stared at him, vacant as sleepwalkers. They did not react to his words, his smile, or even his presence on the grounds.

The ochimusha sighed. He waved a hand in front of the glassy-eyed woman, and then snapped his fingers in front of the man.

“Hi-de-tsu-gu,” he said slowly. “Your boss. My partner. You helped him wreck this place awhile ago. Is he still here?”

The sound of the ogre’s name made the man flinch, but the woman remained expressionless. Toshi paused, winked at her, and then stepped up into the man’s face.

“Hidetsugu,” he said again, enjoying the ripple of fear that crossed those otherwise inscrutable features. He turned back to the woman and gestured at the man. “I can keep this up all day, you know.” He turned back to the man. “Hidetsugu.”

The man snarled. The woman’s blade appeared in her hand and Toshi yelped. Before he could backpedal, the man’s staff thumped solidly into Toshi’s back and he clamped on to the ochimusha’s sword arm.

Gingerly, with the tip of the woman’s blade inches from his nose, Toshi pushed the sword aside with one finger. He slid his left wrist free of his sleeve and showed them the triangle-shaped symbol there.

“Hyozan,” he said. “This symbol is the kanji for iceberg. Your master has a similar mark on his chest. It signifies membership, brotherhood. We’re members of the same group. You two should recognize me, we’ve met before.”

Toshi took a moment to study his fingernails. Casually, he added, “And if you don’t say something useful soon, we’re going to have to fight.” He put his hands on his hips. “And Hidetsugu won’t like that. He’ll probably bite your heads off just for making me explain this much. If you’re lucky.” He smiled a wicked smile and cocked his head. “Think about it. You know I’m not exaggerating.”

The man’s grip on his shoulder softened. The woman lowered her sword.

“Good,” Toshi said. “Now, you don’t have to announce me and you don’t have to escort me. Just let me pass and I’ll find him myself.”

The woman sheathed her sword. She stared at Toshi through her dead eyes, then pointed up the stairs into the academy interior. With a soft grunt, she sprang high into the air and landed on the lintel above the main doorway. Toshi heard feet scuffling the ground behind him, and then the man joined his fellow sentry on top of the door.

Toshi waved pleasantly as he strode up the staircase. These two were yamabushi , feared and powerful warrior-priests from the mountains. They were notoriously reclusive and highly trained in the art of killing, especially effective against opponents from the spirit world. Toshi almost chuckled. Getting past them was the easy part.

His gallows-humor mirth dissolved when he approached the door, as Toshi saw dried bloodstains and sword slashes carved deep into the marble stairs. He paused for a moment to wonder what would have happened had circumstances been different, and if he hadn’t shown the yamabushi his hyozan mark. Such thoughts were extremely unpleasant and unhelpful as he prepared to face Hidetsugu once again, so he shoved them to the back of his mind. Outwardly confident, Toshi slipped inside the building.

Inside, the academy was just as still and lifeless as the outside. Toshi could see high water marks on some of the walls as if a flash flood had swept through the halls, but there were no people, no bodies, and no signs of a struggle. He knew what Hidetsugu was capable of and he had seen the aftermath of the o-bakemono’s rage many times, but the academy was not at all like Toshi expected.

That made him nervous. Hidetsugu was at his most dangerous when he was deliberate, and the conspicuous lack of trophy corpses meant he was being especially precise. If there weren’t heads decorating the academy gates, Hidetsugu must have found another use for them. Toshi shuddered at the thought.

The layout of the school was unfamiliar, but Toshi knew that Hidetsugu would be in the largest centrally located chamber. He followed the entrance hallway into the center of the building and then climbed a set of stairs to a mezzanine-style reception area. Opposite the stairs on this level, he saw two yamabushi standing guard outside a wide doorway.

The yamabushi barely noticed him as he approached. After pausing to make sure they did not intend to prevent him from passing, Toshi swept into the great hall. Without looking for Hidetsugu, Toshi bowed deeply and said, “Greetings, oath-brother,” as jauntily as he could.

Toshi stood staring at the floor for a few moments. He heard a deep, stentorian growl and the clatter of falling stones. The ochimusha waited until the first drop of sweat fell from his forehead to the stone floor, and then he raised his head.

Hidetsugu the ogre sat on a mound of white, polished bones piled higher than Toshi’s chest. The massive figure was smiling slightly as he stared down at Toshi, his eyes glowing dull red like embers in a blacksmith’s forge.