Scott McGough: Outlaw:Champions of Kamigawa

Toshi approached the dying spirit with his katana ready.

"It's already dead," Kiku called. "I killed it. Its brain just needs a moment to catch up."

Toshi stood over the quaking mass. "This thing gets nothing from me," he said, and then he plunged his sword deep into the kami's largest eye.

Black blood spattered, and the kami keened one last time. The vortex of wind dropped away and yellow fog dispersed. Then the kami slowly began to fade.

Toshi flicked the blood from his katana and then wiped the blade on a patch of swamp grass. Kiku's flower was still blooming on the thing's back, a gorgeous and fragrant corsage atop a monstrous heap of blood and meat. As the dead kami vanished into the fog, the bright lavender flower lingered to mark its passing.

Without a word, Kiku turned and headed back into the sulfur mist, toward her cult's headquarters.

"So," Toshi yelled. "You don't mind if I cut across your land?"

Kiku waved her hand dismissively, not even turning as she walked.

"Good," Toshi said. "That's really all I wanted."

Toshi reached his shack just before dawn. This was the dullest section of the fen, known as Numai because so many humans had constructed their houses upon great stilts of bamboo. Where rich and powerful people like Boss Uramon lived in restored manor houses from years gone by, common folk had to make do with far less. Toshi had even spent some time among the piecemeal cottages and community nests of the nezumi, and if not for the ratfolk themselves, he would have vastly preferred their homes to his.

Still, the southwest quarter provided all the privacy and anonymity he needed. Prying into others' affairs was dangerous, even suicidal in the main marsh, but it was unheard of in Numai. There was hardly anyone worth knowing and definitely nothing worth stealing, so Toshi could largely do as he pleased.

Now, it pleased him to collect the few belongings he treasured and to take a small vacation, far from moonfolk and nezumi and kami attacks. Perhaps he would head to the shoreline and feast on mussels and eel for a few weeks. Get some sun and enjoy the sensation of not being hunted.

There was no real entrance to Toshi's house; it was a feature that he had purposelly omitted. No door means no visitors. His one-room ramshackle domain stood about twenty feet over the surface of the swamp, lashed and enchanted to some sturdy bamboo poles. The walls were a confused tangle of planks and joists salvaged from other homes, and the roof was a disaster of crude thatch and carelessly laid beams.

Toshi quickly glanced around to make sure he was unobserved and then shimmied up one of the bamboo supports. From the corner, he climbed hand-over-hand along one of the floorboards until he came to a trap door. He shoved on the hinged panel from below, then pulled himself up into the unlit room.

He moved quickly through the darkness until he found an old oil lamp. He lit the lamp with a stone and a piece of flint, careful to keep the flame low so as not to dazzle-blind himself. The small lamp threw out the barest hint of light, but it was enough for Toshi to see the room and everything in it.

Four soratami were lounging casually in the corners of his home. He recognized Eitoku and his shinobi partner from the alley. The other two were also moonfolk bushi, dressed like Eitoku with stiffened cloth armor and the traditional pair of samurai swords.

A fifth soratami sat smiling on the floor in front of him. All the moonfolk were slender and androgynous, but this one was the most feminine he had seen. She wore her long ears gathered at the base of her skull. Her legs were crossed and she was leaning back on her hands with a contemplative smirk on her face.

"Hello," Toshi said. "Have you seen Toshi Umezawa? He owes me money."

"Take him down," the woman said. There was a blur of motion, and Toshi found himself pinned, disarmed, and restrained, face down on the rough wooden floor.

Someone, probably Eitoku, kicked him solidly in the ribs. Someone else grabbed a handful of hair and forced Toshi's face up.

"You embarrassed the soratami," the woman said. She did not sound angry, but rather distracted. "And worse, you spoiled our endeavor for the evening. These are remarkable feats for a lowlife such as yourself. Truly, the benevolent rabbit in the moon has smiled upon you this night."

Toshi blinked. "Who where did what when?"

The woman laughed, her hollow voice surprisingly warm and gay. "You've never heard of the rabbit in the moon? Shocking. To which kami do you pray?"

"He does not pray," said the moonfolk who had tried to spike Toshi's head. "He 'takes care of himself."'

"I take care of my friends, too," Toshi added. Sweat ran down into his eyes, and he could feel his heart booming. "If you'd care to be my friend, I would-"

Eitoku silenced him with another kick. "Keep his hands pinned," the samurai said. "He uses kanji magic."

The female leaned forward, her face close to Toshi's. "Tell me about your friends," she said. "Do any of them know where you were tonight?"

"I lied," Toshi said instantly. "I don't actually have any friends."

"Hmmm," the woman said. Her eyes seemed to bore straight through Toshi's skull. "Is that loyalty, or candor?"

"Neither," he said. "Check the back of my left hand and you'll see."

"Don't touch him!" Eitoku snapped. "He's full of tricks, this one."

"Yes, I can see that." The woman stretched and then stood. She nodded to Eitoku's partner. "Check his hand, shinobi. He intrigues me, this arrogant ochimusha who does not pray. The rest of you, keep him still."

The shinobi from the alley took Toshi's hand and twisted the palm down. He motioned for the lamp, and one of the samurai brought it forward. The lamp-bearer, the shinobi, and the woman all leaned in to look.

"A triangle," she said. "Most impressive. Though the lines are a bit jagged. You might want to engage a tattoo artist who isn't shaking from narcotic withdrawal."

"It's not just a triangle," Toshi said. "It's a hyozan, an iceberg. See? There's a kanji and everything." He pressed his wrist forward, revealing more of the mark.

"It's a gangster tattoo," Eitoku spat. "He's one of Boss Uramon's reckoners. Muscle for hire."

"Ahh," the woman said. "So you are protected after all. But Boss Uramon isn't here, little thug, and we wouldn't care if she was."

"I don't work for Uramon," Toshi said. "Or any other boss. Haven't you heard of the hyozan reckoners? We work for ourselves."

"How formidable. And I imagine the iceberg is symbolic of your hidden strength? Attack the tip, and the rest of your gang surfaces to take revenge? That is what reckoners do, isn't it? Take revenge for money?"

"Sometimes. We also throw dice."

The female moonfolk laughed again. Then, her smile disappeared like a wisp of steam and her eyes flashed with cold blue light.

"I think we've wasted enough time on you, hyozan reckoner. I think the iceberg is a clever ploy to make people think you've got hidden depths. It's the perception of danger that keeps people away. You like to keep people away, don't you? Else why would you live in the most drab and awful place in the world? Seriously, even nezumi won't come here without a good reason."

The pinned ochimusha held her eyes. "I gave your stooges fair warning before, and now I'm giving it to you. Turn me loose and go away, or things will get ugly."

"Ignore him," Eitoku said. "There are no more kanji on his body, and he's incapable of drawing with his hands pinned."

The female soratami returned to her casual sitting position. "I think we'll hang your body somewhere prominent. To make a good impression on the locals." She nodded, and Toshi heard the sound of a sword being drawn.

Overhead, the moon slipped out from behind a cloud. Its light shone through a gap in Toshi's roof, casting a jagged shadow on the floor.