Sakura
blossoms whistled around the solitary samurai as the wind danced. He smiled
underneath his hat as the delicate petals played against his kimono. As the
breeze slowly passed, he continued into the east.
The day slowly died as the figure made his way out of the province of the
Dragonfly. He walked as one with a purpose, and yet all the time acting the
wanderer. He slowed as the plains opened majestically in front of him, the lone
Dragon in the den of the Lion. He solemnly viewed the hazy castles in the
distance along with the vast openness of the entire panorama. He pulled at his
obi, strolling into the lands of Rokugan.
He
continued to amble, even as the band of samurai began to approach. Bearing the
mon of the Matsu, they marched towards him in stride. The lead samurai, his hand
reaching towards his katana, saluted as a warning.
“Halt,
stranger. You are in the lands of the Lion. Turn back if your purpose is not
official.”
Yet,
the Dragon continued on his path. As he neared the small squad, a young Lion
tossed back her mane and laughed.
“Even
when a Dragon comes down out of the mountains, his head remains in the clouds.
Perhaps if we are a little clearer… you are not welcome in our lands.”
The
Mirumoto stopped, his smile the only feature visible beneath his wide hat. He
placed his left arm into his kimono as he waited. The sun continued to set
behind Shinomin Forest, allowing the Lion samurai nothing more than an outline
of his figure. When he spoke, nobody moved.
“When
the pools of perception are cleansed, everything appears as it is.”
With
that, the lone Dragon began to walk again in to the heart of the Lion. He
continued until a sword flashed in his path. The pride of her family swelled in
her breast at the apparent insult.
“I
will not be made a fool of! I am Matsu Nitari,” she gazed the composed samurai
in the eye, realizing the trap that she had put herself in. She could not
release him now, no matter what kind of dread she felt. He saw in her eyes a fear,
fear of trapping herself in a fight that she could not win...and yet her honor
held her.
“I
challenge you, Dragon. State you name and show me your stance.”
The
Matsu had worry in her eyes as he spoke. She held her katana firm at the
samurai’s heart, never wavering in her challenge. Finally, the Dragon stopped
smiling.
“My
name is Mirumoto Christopher…but as you can see, I am very busy,” he said,
sweeping his arm in front of him “I really must be going now.”
The
Matsu growled, pushing the tip of the katana into the Mirumoto’s chest. She
set her face into a mask that betrayed no more emotion than a stone. Her eyes
shone with the passion of her words.
“If
you will not accept, then you must be of no honor. You wear two swords, yet
neither can do service to your master. Mine shall do the work to your master
that yours cannot.”
Without
a sound, the Mirumoto stepped back into the traditional Niten stance. The fading
light shone of his daisho like a beacon. As
their eyes met, a sakura blossom fell from above. As it floated, a single
strike. A clash sounded, a blade fell. As the cut was made, the Mirumoto saw a
small, charred insignia through the rend in her dress. Before the blossom could
touch the ground, the challenge was resolved.
The
Mirumoto cleaned his swords with rice paper before turning around. He kneeled at
the form of his fallen rival. Truly, she had been worthy of her gempukku
name. He spoke to the ancestors, never paying attention to the remaining Lion at
his back. The final, grim rays of
day died as he spoke,
“Wavering
blossom,
The
first fall of a bare tree,
Yet
honor lives on.”
With
that, he turned around. Without further comment, he turned toward the Scorpion
lands and walked away.
From
the Tomes of Mirumoto Christopher, on the family of the Matsu, Clan Lion.
There
are those who say that the Matsu are a proud family out of a proud Clan. There
is no falsehood in their words, but there is perhaps a bit of misdirection. The
Matsu are not out for personal glory more than any other samurai. They strive to
strengthen the base of their family, at the cost of their own blood. Their
devotion is truly admirable. The Matsu take great pride in furthering the glory
of their Clan, and nobody can ever fault them for this. For this what everyone,
samurai or courtier, lives and strives for.
In my
travels, I once met a young Matsu that epitomized what it is to be a samurai in
the Lion Clan. She met a stranger with honor and spoke as one would with a
respected friend. My comments touched upon a matter that was inexcusable to her.
Only at this presumed insult to her honor did she present the challenge to me.
This is the true measure of respect. The Matsu refused to allow a stain upon her
honor, and yet she never allowed herself to grow into a rage. She maintained an
air of dignity throughout the encounter. I hold this in high esteem.
There
are also those whose words tell that a Lion samurai, particularly the Matsu
family, feel no fear. These are the words of one who has never faced a Matsu
living under the sword. I tell you that the Matsu feel fear the same as all
other samurai. The difference, the very nature that sets them apart, is that
they refuse to allow the dread to control them. This is true of all masters of
the blade, yet the Matsu are in possession of this marvelous trait from
apprentice to master. It would do well for their detractors to learn of the true
nature of the Matsu before issuing rash claims.
The
same Matsu taught me this valuable lesson. She trapped herself into a situation
where her honor allowed her no recourse but to fight. And even when she realized
that she would not be able to win, her honor and her resolve held. I admire this
above all that I have seen in my travels into Matsu lands.
This
young samurai left an impression on me that I shall never forget. For to forget
the deeds of the noble is to dishonor the memory. Truly, to meet a Matsu is to
meet a samurai in the most devout sense.